


Spies are Actually Forever

by ShawnNeil



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Attempted Murder, Blood and Injury, Bullet wound, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Curtwen, Electric Torture, F/M, Fake Character Death, Faked character death, Hallucinations, Injury Recovery, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mind Manipulation, Minor Injuries, Murder, Nazis, Paranoia, Partial Mind Control, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Running Away, Serious Injuries, Torture, getting shot, operant conditioning, spies are forever - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShawnNeil/pseuds/ShawnNeil
Summary: It's been four years since Curt mega last saw Owen Carvour. Four long years... but here he is. Standing right in front of Curt. It's Curts' job as a spy to protect the world from danger. But here, with Owen in front of him for the first time in four years, aiming a gun at his head, he finds he can't do it. He can't lose Owen again. He'd rather lose everything else. His job, his friends, his family, the life he's currently living.And he decides to do just that.
Relationships: Agent Curt Mega & Tatiana Slozhno, Barb Lavernor & Agent Curt Mega, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 51
Kudos: 122





	1. The Lead Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Spies are Forever story I've been thinking about since I first saw the musical. I wasn't going to post it so soon, but I figured 'what the hell? What better time to post this then the Four Year Anniversary of Spies Are Forever'? I'll be updating once or twice a week. So enjoy.
> 
> Also, Chapter Trigger warnings for  
> Death, murder, & Blood (Not explicit)

Prussian-Sloviskian Capital

Curt shifted in the closet, listening to Von Nazi try to sympathize with the Prussian Official and Prime Minister. The informant was running late, he should have been there by now, should have joined the meeting disguised as Burteles. What was taking him so long? He shifted again, earning himself an elbow to the ribs. He glared at Tatiana and in the faint light coming from under the door he could make out her expression. She was annoyed and her eyes seemed to say ‘Stop moving, you’ll give us away.’ He dropped his glare- feeling a little bad- and glanced back to the closet door as he heard another door open.

“Deepest apologies for my tardiness, Prime Minister. Oh hey,” he heard the informant say as he finally entered the room.

“And you are?” The Deadliest Man Alive asked him.

“I’m Burteles, the Royal Notary,” The informant started, getting audibly nervous as he kept talking. “The… The Royal Notaliser. The… The other guy was sick with sadness. So sad about our pwince. Sad with…”

“Burteles, of course. How could I forget? Yes,” The Prime Minister said as he fell for the disguise. Curt could almost feel the Informant’s relief.

“I do not have all day, gentlemen, please,” Von Nazi said, sounding irritated.

“No. Listen. I’m sorry, Nazi. I just, I don’t think we’re in a place that we can elect another leader as wonderful as our precious Prince Feurgin,” The Prime Minister said.

“A shining light for all Prussian Slovakians extinguished too soon.” The Prussian Diplomat said.

“To a man who is not here, but should be,” The informant added. Curt could faintly hear the clinking of glass and he found some irony in the fact these Prussian officials had to be drunk for Nazi to convince them to work with him.

“I know I can't convince you to replace your prince, and trust me you have my sympathy,” Von Nazi started singing. Curt fought back the urge to shoot him in favor of not exposing himself. “But ze guy vas killed, you need to rebuild. Oh, Vait! I've just had an epiphany. Vhat if my Nazi friends made you strong again, you could use a helping hand. Your country's at its knees, time for a reprise. Ze Nazis are not so bad. You've been pushed to the ground, but turn zhat frown upside down.”

“The Nazis are not so bad,” The Prussian Diplomat sang.

“Zhat's right!” Von Nazi said excitedly. “No need to sell your soul, just give us control.”

“The Nazis, they're not so bad,” The Prime Minister added.

“Yes!” Von Nazi said. “I should take zhe reins, I've got a very good brain. You know it's true so don't be mad.”

“Oh, he's so big and strong!” The Prime Minister said.

“And I love this song!” The Informant added and Curt couldn’t help but feel bad for the informant, who was forced to be part of this song.

“The Nazis are not so bad,” Von Nazi, the Informant, the Prime Minister, and the Prussian Diplomat sang.

“YEEEES,” Von Nazi said excitedly

“Nazis are not so bad, Nazis are not so bad. Nazis are not so, Nazis are not so, Nazis, Nazis, Nazis, Nazis, are not, so,” everyone except the Deadliest Man Alive sang.

“Not so bad! Wonderbar. Ve shall begin flooding zhe populist with Nazi propaganda zhis very day,” Von Nazi said. Curt glanced at Tatiana, silently asking if they should step out now. She shook her head no and he bit back a groan.

“Sir, you’re forgettin’ about your Nazi Super castle again,” The Deadliest Man Alive said, making Curt wonder why he was so insistent about it.

“Oh, I’m so forgetful. Mr. Deadliest Man, I wouldn’t get anything done if it wasn’t for you. Prime Minister, We believe it is necessary to our new national moral if we announce our presence in a big way. Thusly we’d like to begin constructions of the New Nazi Capitol immediately,” Von Nazi said, his tone loaded with fake pleasantness.

“Of course, whatever you need,” the Prime Minister said.

“All we need is your signature. Right here on this deed…” The Deadliest Man said as Curt heard a pen scribbling on paper. “Thank you. And of course, the royal notary.” Curt heard the informant also sign the deed.

“Thank you,” the deadliest man said with a laugh before falling silent. ”Hold It! I smell a traitor. And he is in this very room right now.”

Curt glanced over at Tatiana, silently asking if now they stepped out. She shook her head no as the Prime Minister and Prussian Diplomat gasped at the same time the Informant tried to play shocked.

“Fee... Fi... Fo... FEEM! One of these men is not who they seem… to be,” The deadliest man alive growled, reminding Curt of a giant.

“Well, what is it? Is one of them… famous or something? I don’t know,” Von Nazi said, causing Curt and Tatiana to roll their eyes at the supposed genius’s stupidity.

“That stench. It’s On Both Of Them! There is something not right about these too,” the Deadliest man alive said.

“Stop It This Instance! Why I have known these two men my entire life. Burteles and I were schoolboys together. I’m proud to call them my countrymen,” The Prime Minister said. Curt silently asked Tatiana if they should step out now, but before Tatiana could answer, the Deadliest man alive spoke again.

“Mega. And the girl, they’re here,” The deadliest man growled.

“That’s right. We’re here to stop you,” Curt said as he charged out of the closet with Tatiana, gun aimed at the Deadliest man alive.

“Get out of here now, go! Go!” Tatiana told the two officials, prompting them both to run out of the room and the Informant to rush to Tatiana and Curts’ side.

“Come on! What? Go after them. Go after them!” Von Nazi yelled, gesturing for the Deadliest man to go after the officials. When the Deadliest man just scoffed, Von Nazi rushed forward with his hands up in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. “What? We just started a very amicable working relationship with them. We need them!” he whined.

“No, we don’t. And here’s another thing we don’t need,” the Deadliest man said before shoving his arm forward and stabbing Von Nazi in the back, eliciting a scream from the man as the blade punctured the skin just a few inches to the left of his spine.

“WOW! I was not expecting that,” Curt said as Von Nazi collapsed to the ground with a groan.

“Stabbed in the back, literally,” Von Nazi said as he dug into his pocket. “Et Tu, Mr. Deadliest Man.” Curt was shocked as Von Nazi threw glitter into the face of the Deadliest Man Alive.

“What? No! Stop!” The deadliest man yelled as he stabbed into Von Nazis’ chest repeatedly, the blade now dripping dark red blood as Von Nazi finally stopped moving.

“Did Von Nazi betray you as well?” Tatiana asked from next to Curt as the Deadliest man started laughing to himself, prompting Curt to straighten out his arms and tighten his grip on his gun, which had loosened in his bewilderment.

“Oh, my, my, my. Quite a lot of effort to get my hands on this little thing,” the deadliest man said with a laugh as he held up a piece of paper that Curt didn’t recognize at first.

“For a piece of paper? I can’t figure you out, man,” Curt said, shaking his head in confusion.

“No, you really can’t, can you? But I’ve had you figured out from the start,” The deadliest man said, his tone turning dark as he added on a hint of malice. “‘Personal history does have its benefits, Mega’.” 

Curt’s breathing caught in his throat. That was… that was Owen’s voice. But that was impossible. Owen was dead. Curt knew Owen was dead. Curt shook his head, figuring his mind was messing with him again, making him think he saw Owen when he wasn’t really there.

But then the deadliest man was pulling at his neck and his skin was peeling up and- was he wearing a mask? It appeared he was as the mask was pulled completely off his head and was tossed to the side, revealing a man who was pale and had faint bags under his eyes and his hair was greasy and longer than before and he had a little bit of stubble, but Curt still recognized this man. Of course, he recognized his old partner. Curt could never forget Owen’s face.

Curt shook his head again. This wasn’t the time for him to be seeing things, he was dealing with something right now and he couldn’t be seeing Owen right now. But when he looked back at Owen, he could still see the man he loved standing there, clear as day. A smug glint was shining in Owens’ eyes and his lip was turned up in a cruel smile. Owen was really here. The Informant nudged Curts’ side and he blinked, realizing Tatiana had said something.

“Hello, Curt. Long time no see,” Owen said, his eyes meeting Curts’. “The Deadliest Man Alive, oof. What a juicy character, eh? If it hadn’t been for my spot on aim and interest in foreign policy, you know, well I might have been an actor. You know, it takes quite a bit of discipline to research and rehearse a role to perfection. So that when the lights go up, and it’s showtime, you’re ready,” Owen said, sounding proud until he narrowed his eyes and his tone went cold. “Or we can just do things your way and simply wing it. But we all know how that turns out right?”

“How… how are you here? Why are you here? I watched you fall. You’re dead,” Curt said, struggling to keep his voice from cracking.

“Well, part of me is. Hell, I probably spent as much time hating you as you did. But then I realized what that night had taught me,” Owen said, his voice gaining a slight growl. “Perhaps putting the fate of the world in the hands of an arrogant, impulsive brute is simply not the best option.”

“So you felt asking the Nazis for help would be a good idea?” Tatiana asked as Curt struggled to find a response.

“Oh, no, no, no. I’ve been manipulating Von Nazi from the very beginning. The fool was an expendable puppet,” Owen said, turning to Von Nazi and messing with his face. “‘Look at me, I keep glitter up my sleeve. Waka waka,’ No, no, no, no, no… No, no, no. His plan was merely a prologue. We haven’t even reached our second act climax yet,” Owen said with a slight grin.

“Our?” The Informant asked.

“Ah, well, you see, after my accident I, uh, I met someone who invited me into a little group he has been organizing. Inventors, entrepreneurs, politicians mostly. I’ve gotten very close with its directors and done quite a bit of networking in the industry…” Owen explained before trailing off for a moment. “Damn, really should have been an actor,” Owen said before his left arm jerked slightly and his hand twitched as if he was experiencing a small yet unexpected pain. Curt glanced over to Tatiana and the Informant, wondering if they noticed and saw anything odd about it. They didn’t seem to have noticed.

“You see, the attendees of this little society are all pooling their collective influences and wealth, to try and create a better world. We call ourselves, ‘CHIMERA’,” Owen continued after pausing for effect.

“The fire-breathing creature from Greek mythology. Body of a lion, head of a goat, and dragon on its back,” the Informant said, sounding a little shocked and confused.

“With wings and a tail that is a snake,” Tatiana added in a bored way. Owen froze for half a second before another grin was on his face as he spoke.

“We got a little bit of everything! Well done, you two. Curt always had a penchant for surrounding himself with colleagues smarter than himself,” Owen said, the snide comment stinging Curt.

“This Chimera was what… funding Von nazi’s schemes?” Curt asked, trying to ignore the hurt.

“Oh, very good Curt. Finally catching up with the rest of us,” Owen said snidely.

“But what use is a Nazi nation to Chimera?” Curt asked him.

“I don’t have all day for your bird brain to figure it out, Curt,” Owen said, his left hand subtly tensing up. Curt knew It was something Owen used to do when he was going to be injured in some way or another.

“Bird? Little birdies? His scientist developing?” Tatiana asked quietly. Curt looked over to her and could see in her eyes as it clicked in for her. “You’re after the technology.”

“Pop goes the weasel!” Owen exclaimed, his hand jerking the slightest bit again, which he played off by throwing his hands up in the air. “An advanced Nazi information surveillance network to collect and archive state secrets.”

“Why drag this out till now if you have had it the entire time?” Curt asked Owen, his eyes flickering to Owens’ hands- which weren’t tense anymore- before meeting his eyes.

“Yes, but I didn’t yet have… this,” Owen said, holding up the paper from before as his eyes flickered to Curt briefly.

“The deed to build a nazi castle on Prussian land,” The informant clarified for Curt and Tatiana.

“It’s not what’s on the land, my boy. But what’s under it,” Owen informed them, his hand tensing the slightest bit again.

“Dirt?” Tatiana asked. Owen paused for a moment, his hand relaxing as he looked over at Tatiana with an unimpressed yet annoyed look.

“No,” he said, looking back at the deed.

“Rocks?” Curt asked.

“Closer,” Owen said, nodding his head to the side.

“Dinosaurs,” the informant said.

“I- …” Owen let out a deep, exasperated sigh before his hand tensed up again. “No, the largest wealth of pure unmined natural Silicon the world has ever seen!”

Curt shared a confused look with Tatiana and the Informant as they all responded with an “Ah,” simultaneously.

“Don’t you get it? Those stores of silicon beneath the earth’s crust will allow us to mass-produce Von Nazi’s technology and deploy his system on a global scale! I’d have all the world's secrets,” Owen explained, his hand twitching a little harder this time. “I’d be God. Ha. Now what a world that would be, eh?”

“My government will never allow this,” Curt said. He was confused with how Owen was acting- as Owen had never been a fan of holding too much power- as well as how his hand kept tensing up.

“Not even the soviets will,” Tatiana added.

“Not at first, no. Everybody likes to do the watching, but no one likes to be watched,” Owen admitted.

“You can’t just invade the privacy of civilians without reason or suspicion!” Tatiana yelled at him.

“Well, I like to think we are just turning everyone into a spy, They just aren’t aware of it,” Owen said. That was another thing that confused Curt as Owen had once told him that he was happy to be a spy as it meant civilians were left out of the stress of the job.

“Good thing we’re here to stop you. Give it up,” Curt said. Owen stared at him for a good few seconds before answering.

“What?” he asked.

“Th- The technology. The surveillance network. We’re gonna destroy it,” Curt said. Owen started laughing after that.

“You bloody idiots! It’s not just some casefile of something you can hold in your hand. The current system is as big as an entire warehouse, nay, compound,” Owen said, his hand jerking again as Curt, Tatiana, and the Informant gasped.

“And it’s filled with enormous computing consoles,” Owen continued, his hand jerking a little harder as the three gasped again.

“And it takes up an entire island in the Pacific Ocean!” Owen exclaimed, his hand twitching a third, much harder time as the other spies gasped a much louder, third time.

“Well, I’m off. Terribly late for dinner with my new friends,” Owen said, standing up to leave before pausing for a moment. “A bit of advice, dear. If you choose to work with the infamous Curt Mega, Take caution. His partners don’t tend to last.”

With that vague threat, Owen shot the informant in the chest but his eyes were trained on Curt.

“Always end on a high note, they say. Well, the fate of the world is in your hands, Curt. Are you going to go after me? Or are you going to go after the machine? I think I know which one you’ll choose,” Owen said, going to leave again before turning back to them one last time. “Oh, and Tatiana. Don’t ‘slip up’,” And then he was gone.

Curt turned his full attention to the Informant, who looked between him and Tatiana with a small sad smile. He was quickly going pale and was clearly losing strength.

“I guess this is where my story ends. In the old… Socialist… new… democratic…” he said, his voice trailing off as he collapsed.

Tatiana stepped away from him, a determined expression on her face as Curt stayed by his side.

“I’ll locate the island and destroy the system,” she said after a moment, causing Curt to look up and step closer to her.

“No. I should be the one. I need to be the one,” he said, his words slowly trailing off into mumbling as something clicked in his mind. He’d failed the informant. A good man was dead because of him. He didn’t have a chance to grieve now as Tatiana spoke up.

“What you  _ need _ is to go after Owen,” Tatiana said firmly, stealing his attention. Curt looked at her for a moment before smiling.

“Thank you… Partner,” he said. Tatiana returned the smile before her expression hardened.

“Go!” she yelled before turning to leave. With that goodbye, Curt turned and ran out the door Owen had taken. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt stays one step behind Owen in a desperate chase, only to end up where they began four years ago. However, when push comes to shove, Curt finds a better option than the one presented for it, and he just needs Owen to accept it.
> 
> TW: Guns, Gunshots, weapons, violence, Blood, injuries
> 
> Next Update: Wednesday, July 1st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, readers, I've got two announcements to say. 1) My writing schedule is way more spaced out then it has been in the past, but the next posting date of every chapter will be at the bottom of the chapter summary. And 2) I am looking to have a beta reader for a third story I’ve been working on for a while that I’m planning to post in late July. So any who would like to beta read and likes the AVPM universe and the Hatchetfield characters, please message me in the comments.

Outside the capital was a bar with a few men yelling in the parking lot. One of them mentioned something about a stolen motorcycle, which sounded exactly like an Owen move. Curt asked which way the thief had gone, hopped onto another motorcycle- which he hotwired in record time- and was off before any of the men could stop him.

After about two minutes of speeding down the straight road, he could see Owen in the distance. Curt pushed the bike to go even faster and was on Owens’ back in a matter of seconds, which seemed to surprise the other man. Owen had looked back at Curt briefly, his expression unreadable, before pushing his own bike to go faster as well. Curt sped after him until Owen took a sudden sharp turn down another road that had Curt swerving out of the way of several trees until he managed to stop his bike without getting thrown off.

When Curt looked back to Owens’ bike, he saw the vehicle on its side and Owen dashing towards a big building with the words ‘Boat Rentals’ written on the front sign in Russian. With a groan, Curt was up and chasing after him. 

Curt made it to the docks just as a green boat charged out of the docs and into the choppy waters. Curt hopped into the closest boat he could find- which was painted a rather ugly burnt orange color- hotwired this vehicle as well, and was quickly chasing after his ex-partner again.

Owen was going fast and was swerving in the shallow water, which allowed Curt to know what spots to avoid and gave him the advantage. He was bouncing up in the air and slamming back down into his seat as the boat went up and down with the water. Despite that Curt tried to draw his gun, only to realize that his grip on the steering wheel was the only thing stopping him from going flying out of the back of the boat. So Curt instead sped up until the front of his boat was just a few feet from the back of Owens’. Owen looked back at him like he was crazy before pulling into another sharp turn as the side of his boat slammed into the shore. Curt had to do a 180 spin and allow the boat to slow down so he wouldn’t crash into the shore and go flying. 

When he got the boat to slow down enough he hopped out and chased after the footprints in the sand until they ended up on a dirt path. Curt followed down the path, occasionally catching a glance of Owen until he vanished from view again. After a while of chasing after Owen, he got to a big grey building. The front door was still swinging shut from Owens’ haste.

Upon stepping inside he saw tons and tons of weapons decorating the walls. One wall had an assortment of bo staffs’, with one of the staffs’ very obviously missing. Curt looked around and rushed over to grab another staff, which proved useful as shortly after he grabbed it, Owen was swinging the missing staff down in Curts’ direction.

“It's time to save the world again,” Curt muttered to himself, blocking Owens’ attack.

“Ohh typical Curt. And pretend to be a hero again,” Owen responded, clearly mocking him.

“Typical jerk!” Curt yelled.

“Ohh, sick burn,” Owen taunted.

“What happened to the man I knew?” Curt asked as he swung at Owen- who blocked him easily.

“It's a little late for an interview,” Owen growled, lunging at him again.

“Feelin' a lot of deja vu again,” Owen and Curt both said as they easily countered the others attack, ending with their faces just inches from each other, their breaths mingling. Owens’ eyes widened the slightest bit in surprise and he shoved Curt backward, causing him to stumble as Owen tossed the bo staff to the side in favor of grabbing an old sword. Curt recovered quickly and grabbed his own sword.

“It's time for you to feel the heat!” Curt yelled, a part of him not wanting to hurt Owen, but his spy instincts taking over like this was any other battle.

“Revenge is going to taste so sweet,” Owen said, spinning the sword in his hand and just managing to stop Curts’ sword swing.

“Old buddy,” Curt said, meeting Owens’ eyes. Owen glared at Curt, but it didn’t contain the same heat as before.

“Old pal,” Owen responded as he swung his sword, making Curt pull away or risk getting disarmed.

“We meet again. One step ahead,” They both yelled as they took turns swinging at each other again.

“You played me from the start!” Curt yelled as he lunged at Owen, who managed to block him.

“Well look at you without a clue!” Owen yelled, swinging at Curts’ face. Curt dodged the majority of the attack but ended up getting a small slice on his face that immediately started bleeding.

“You know you broke my heart!” Curt yelled, bringing up one hand to feel the damage. He saw something crumble in Owens’ eyes, but he wasn’t sure what.

“One step ahead. I'm sorry my old friend!” They both said as they ended up close together again. Owen managed to shove Curt back, his sword aimed at Curts’ throat, but unable to do anything with that position as Curt was too far away.

“Don't deny I was the better spy!” he yelled.

“I liked you better when you were dead!” Curt yelled as he knocked Owens’ sword away before rushing towards a display of weapons from the American Revolution. He spun around to see Owen also had a gun similar to his from a display on the French revolution.

“One step ahead!” They both yelled as they shot at each other. The two quickly check themselves for injuries. When they both realized they were fine they sighed in relief. Curt and Owen exchanged a look, unsure what to do next before deciding to reload the old guns. A process that took at least thirty seconds.

Curt finished around the same time as Owen and they fired at each other almost simultaneously. Owen was the first to realize neither of their shots hit each other and tossed the useless weapon away as he took off down the hall, with Curt taking off after him.

“One step ahead!” Owen yelled as he made his way up a set of stairs.

“One step ahead,” Curt mimicked as he raced after Owen, who’d gotten to the top of the stairs and made his way out a door there blinking in the sudden sunlight.

“It's how it's always been,” Owen said as Curt made his way out of the stairway and onto the roof, right in time to see Owen jump off the roof on a hang glider.

“Can't let you win,” Curt said, grabbing another hang glider nearby and jumping after him.

“I'm still here,” Curt heard Owen say over the sound wind in his ears.

“After all those years,” Curt muttered quietly.

“And I'm better than you again!” Owen yelled.

“This is the end!” Curt yelled as Owens’ feet hit the ground of another building ahead of him, stumbling a bit.

“One step ahead!” Owen yelled as he spun around to face Curt as he hit the ground.

“One step ahead!” Curt said as he forced the glider out of the way.

“No one's innocent!” Owen yelled at him.

“My friend, you lost your mind!” Curt argued. He saw something crumble in Owens’ eyes again before his gaze hardened again.

“And you've been blind!” Owen yelled as he swung at Curt, knocking him square in the face. Curt backed off, his eyes narrowed at Owen as he worked his jaw to make sure nothing was broken, but he could feel blood filling his mouth as the wound in his mouth from the missing tooth opened again.

“And now we're at the end!” They both yelled at each other before they both charged forward at each other. 

“This is what you made me do!” They both yelled as they caught one of the other’s fist and shoved the other away, with Curt managing to punch Owen in the gut. Owen recovered quickly and managed to catch Curts’ upper arm in a strong grip. “This is it-”

“We're done,” Owen growled.

“We're through!” Curt responded, punching Owen in the face which made him let go of Curt. Curt took this chance to charge inside the building- stumbling as the sudden change in lighting made him almost miss the first step- and down the stairs.

“I've nothing left to say to you!” They both yelled as Owen charged after him. Curt looked around the building he was in and paused at the top of one of the platforms as he realized where he was. He heard Owen slow behind him and drew his gun. 

“So long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu. Goodbye.”

Russian Weapons Facility

Curt looked up at Owen- both him and the other man breathing hard- as the reality of the situation dawned on him. Owen was pissed at him because of what happened four years ago. Curt didn’t want to hurt Owen again. He’d grieved for four years only to find out Owen was alive. Curt didn’t want to lose him again. It was very likely Owen would come out on top in this scenario.

As Curt looked up at Owen- who already had three inches on him, as well as he was four steps above him- he saw something in his eyes. He saw anger, yeah, but he also saw something else. He saw fear and regret. Curt took a deep breath as he decided he would try to talk Owen down.

“Time to take your final bow, Curt,” Owen said, his voice not containing the same malice from before.

“My team is destroying your island facility as we speak. Your surveillance network is fried,” Curt said, pausing for a moment before adding on some theater terminology as well. “There’ll be no encore tonight. For you.” Owen did pause for a second, blinking hard before continuing, his hand tensing up again.

“Perhaps you’ve destroyed that island facility… But what of the others,” he said as he lowered his gun. Curts’ eyes followed the weapon, so he saw when the other mans’ hand jerked the slightest bit again and his mouth twisted down in a barely noticeable wince. Curts’ arm dropped down the slightest bit as he processed what Owen said.

“There’s more?” Curt asked him.

“How does it feel to know you’ll never catch up with us?” Owen asked, raising his gun to aim at Curts’ forehead again as Curts’ arms dropped more.

“It’s not too late to fix this,” Curt said, desperation leaking into his voice. “If you agree to give up Chimera, I’m sure the agency can pull some strings-” Curt tried, looking up at Owen desperately.

“YOU STILL DON’T SEE, DO YOU CURT!” Owen yelled, cutting off Curt and dropping his hands to his sides briefly. “There won’t BE any agency to go back to, once the system is global. I’m going to single-handedly dismantle everything you’ve ever believed in,” Owen said, his voice dropping and almost cracking as he aimed at Curts’ head again.

“We used to share those beliefs,” Curt said softly before his volume rose, fueled by his desperation. “Think of the missions we served. The lives we saved. The impact we had on this world. Together. Two of the greatest spies to ever live. And you consider that and you look me in the eyes, and you tell me you don’t believe we’re making a difference!” Something else crumbled in Owens’ eyes.

“The future is happening, Curt. And it’s not going to wait for you. What use will one man be, when a box in a room can do his job in seconds, huh?” Owen asked, he was trying to keep his face even, but Curt almost thought he could see resignation in his eyes as the gun was lowered again.

“Sounds boring,” Curt said softly.

“You’re a caveman. And I've invented fire,” Owen said.

“I’ll stop you,” Curt said, locking eyes with Owen. Owen swallowed before answering.

“You’ll do your best,” Owen said. Curt looked down as he continued talking. “Once a spy, always a spy.”

Curt turned away from Owen, his eyes traveling to the railing next to him when he finally realized where he was. “‘Forever’... whatever. The warmest Hello, to the coldest goodbye. Remember… I remember,” Curt looked up, his eyes taking in the empty weapons facility that must have been rebuilt since it had been destroyed four years ago. 

“Spies never die… A new world awaits us, Curt. A world without agencies, a world without spies, a world without secrets…” Owen said, trailing off slowly. Curt took a deep breath, not looking back at Owen yet.

“Some secrets aren’t yours to share…” he said, finally looking back up at the man he still loved. Even as Owen was pointing a gun to his head, Curt couldn’t find it in himself to hate Owen. “What about our secret? The time we shared. The feelings we had… For each other,” Curt said, going up a step so that Owens’ gun was aimed at his heart instead. Curt saw Owen blink hard and adjust his grip as his hand twitched again. “Are you ready to share that with the world?” Curt asked, locking eyes with Owen for what felt like the hundredth time. Owen worked his jaw and lifted the gun to Curts’ head again.

“That secret died the night you left me for dead,” Owen said, his voice cracking once. Curt nodded and looked away.

“Clearly,” Curt muttered as he turned to go back down the stairs to the platform he’d been on.

“Here’s some advice, Curt,” Owen said as Curt took the safety off his gun. “It’s called moving on. Do give it a try.”

In an instance Curt spun around and shot the gun out of Owens’ hand, causing it to go flying below the stairs. Owens’ eyes went wide with mostly concealed panic.

“You know, killing me won’t take the system offline, so… what are you doing?” Owen asked, not moving away as Curt came up the stairs. Owens’ hand twitched again- he also winced the slightest bit- and Curt met Owens’ eyes, reading the emotions swimming in them. Curt recognized the exhaustion in Owens’ eyes and he made his decision.

“Taking your advice,” Curt said before shooting Owens’ watch. The glass shattered, the watch split into multiple pieces, and a majority of the pieces fell below the stairs. Unfortunately, Curt hadn’t considered the possibility of the bullet ricocheting off the watch and burrowing itself in Owens’ leg, causing Owen to yell out in pain and tumble backward so he was sitting back on the top platform of the staircase. Owen hissed in pain and placed a hand over the bleeding wound, his eyes traveling up to meet Curts’. He opened his mouth as if to say something before closing it again. 

Curt could feel Owens’ eyes on him as he put the safety back on his gun. He slowly looked back to Owen, who was looking up at him with confusion evident in his expression.

“Curt, what are you doing?” Owen asked after another moment, his voice much lower than it needed to be.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Curt answered like it was simple. That didn’t seem to be the answer Owen expected, as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Why not? You didn’t seem to have an issue the first time,” Owen said bitterly. Curt blinked in surprise, which caused Owen to scoff. “Don’t give me that, Curt. I’m not an idiot. I know you and the agency both wanted me dead.”

“Owen, what do you mean? I never wanted you dead, let alone the agency,” Curt said.

“Stop lying to me, Curt,” Owen said, tightening his grip on his leg to stop the bleeding.

“I’m not lying to you, Owen. Why would I do that?” Curt asked, stepping closer to Owen so he could check his leg. Owen didn’t seem to be a fan of that and pushed himself away from Curt until he was out of reach- which also put a lot more strain on his injured leg. Curt held up his hands- showing he meant no harm- and sat down on the top of the stairs, a few feet from Owen.

“They told me you sold me out. They told me you wanted me dead. That you planned it all,” Owen said, his tone turning a little more frantic.

“Owen, what do you mean ‘I sold you out’? I didn’t ‘plan’ anything,” Curt said.

“They said you told M16 about-” Owen stopped, looking off to the side taking a deep breath before continuing. “They said you told M16 about my secret and that you offered to help get rid of me,” Owen explained, which confused Curt.

“What? Owen, I would  _ never _ do that.  _ Why _ would I do that? And honestly, when do I ever ‘plan’ anything?” Curt asked, moving the slightest bit closer to Owen, who didn’t notice.

“I don’t  _ know _ why, but they had messages between you and M16 saying how disgusting I was and how you planned to arrange an accident for me,” Owen said. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t. Instead, Owen pulled his right hand away from his bullet wound and rubbed at his left wrist briefly, smearing blood that he didn’t seem to notice.

“Owen, look at me,” Curt said softly, causing Owen to look up at him. “I don’t know what they showed you or what they told you, but I promise you I never wanted you to fall. If I could go back in time and take your place I would,” Curt said, looking Owen right in the eyes as he spoke. Owen was scanning Curts’ face as he spoke, looking for any tell Curt was lying. After a long moment, Owen looked away with a sigh.

“You became a good liar in the four years I’ve been gone,” Owen said.

“Owen, Please-” Curt started.

“Please what, Curt? What  _ exactly  _ do you want me to do, huh?” Owen asked, his words should have been hurtful, but he just sounded tired. “I can’t believe I’m still in love with you,” Owen said softly.

“Owen?” Curt asked.

“I tried…  _ so _ hard to hate you these few years but I couldn’t…” Owen said, his voice even softer than before. Curt worked his jaw once as he thought before answering.

“Owen, I swear I never wanted to hurt… I still love you and we can talk about this later, but right now we need to treat your leg. You’re bleeding a lot,” Curt explained, pointing to the blood pooling below him from his shin. 

Owen looked between his bleeding shin, Curt, and his wrist. He seemed hesitant, but Curt could see that Owen was considering letting him help and Curt allowed himself to hope. Owen opened his mouth to answer, only for his face to drop.

“Then what, Curt? I have to go back to Chimera and you have to go back to Cynthia. I  _ refuse  _ to go back to M16 or CIA, and I know you’d never join Chimera,” Owen said.

“Then… we’ll just not go back. You and I just vanish,” Curt said, hope in his voice as he moved a little closer.

“I can’t do that,” Owen whispered.

“Why not?” Curt asked, his voice almost cracking.

“Chimera… they’ll find me and hurt us both,” Owen said.

“Well, we’ll just be unpredictable. We won’t stay anywhere too long,” Curt said. 

“You’re saying we go on the lam, old boy?” Owen asked, he was quickly going pale, which concerned Curt to no end.

“Yes, exactly!” Curt said. Owen frowned and looked away again. “Owen, please. We can talk about this later, but I need to fix your leg,” Curt said. Owen locked eyes with Curt for a moment before letting out a sigh and nodding for Curt to come closer. 

Curt immediately scooted much closer, examining the wound. The entrance wound was about two centimeters in diameter, with the exit wound being a little bigger. An exit wound had pros and cons, but Curt didn’t have the time to dwell on that as he ripped the bottom of his shirt off to wrap around the wounds and stop the bleeding. Owen hissed at the pressure and Curt sent him an apologetic glance.

“Sorry. I didn’t intend to hit your leg,” Curt said as he tightened the make-shift fabric bandage.

“I don’t imagine you did,” Owen said. Curt was aware of Owen watching hands as he worked. Curt wasn’t sure what else to say as he finished wrapping Owens’ leg with a sigh.

“That’s the best I can do for now. As soon as I find a first aid kit, I’ll take better care of it,” Curt promised as he looked back at Owen, getting a nod from the other man.

“What now?” Owen asked after a moment. Curt hesitated, as he hadn’t thought this far, which Owen seemed to realize. “You don’t have a plan, do you?”

“Well, No… but-” Curt started, cutting himself off when Owen sighed.

“Curt, this is a terrible idea. You’re going to get yourself hurt or killed. Just go back to A.S.S.” Owen said tiredly.

“No, Owen,” Curt said, grabbing one of Owens’ hands- Curt had wiped the blood on his hands on his shirt, but Owens’ hands still had dried blood on them, not that it mattered to Curt- and Owen squeezed Curts’ hand quickly. Curt squeezed his hand back. “Owen, I lost you once. And when I did I grieved every day. I’m not going to lose you again if I can help it,” Curt said.

“Then what do we do next?” Owen asked him.

“We’ll find a car and just drive somewhere, anywhere. We’ll follow no clear path. Just you and me going wherever we decide at that moment,” Curt said. Owens’ lips pressed together in a thin line as he looked away, clearly thinking about it.

“Okay,” Owen muttered, almost too quiet for Curt to hear.

“Okay?” Curt asked, his voice a bit louder in excitement as he tried to confirm what Owen said. Owen looked back at Curt and gave a small smile.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” Owen said.

Curts’ smile widened and he pulled Owen into a hug. Owen tensed slightly before slowly returning the hug. They stayed like that for several minutes until Curts’ watch started buzzing. Owen pulled away first and Curt could see Owen eye his watch skeptically.

“It’s Barb,” Curt told him as his mind registered who was calling him.

“Shouldn’t you answer it?” Owen asked. Curt stared at the watch before shaking his head.

“No, I don’t think I should. If they think I’m dead, it’ll be easier to disappear,” Curt said, smiling at Owen before taking off the watch and tossing it off the stairway. Owen didn’t move again until he heard the watch shatter. As soon as he heard it, he smiled at Curt. Curt returned the smile.

“Shall we get out of here?” Curt asked. Owen looked around the facility for a moment, his eyes trailing to the stairway briefly before going back to Curt, a smile forming on his face.

“We shall,” Owen said. Curt smiled and stood up, offering a hand to Owen who smiled and accepted it. Curt pulled Owen so he was standing, only for Owen to almost fall over as- assumably- pain flared through his leg. Curt helped steady Owen, who was gripping onto Curt so he wouldn’t fall over.

“Are you alright?” Curt asked him.

“Perfect,” Owen said dryly. Curt rolled his eyes fondly and looked around before an idea came to mind and he smiled.

“Alright, I’ve got an idea,” Curt said. Owen opened his mouth- probably to ask what Curt had come up with- but whatever he was he was going to say was cut off with a yelp as Curt wrapped one arm around Owens’ back and the other under his knees, picking up the slightly taller man with ease.

“Curt, what are you doing?!” Owen yelled at him, sounding more alarmed then angry as his hands tightly gripped the fabric of Curts’ shirt and he tensed up.

“It’s easier to get out of here this way than having you walk,” Curt said like it was obvious, smiling at Owen as he said it.

“You couldn’t have mentioned you were going to pick me up beforehand?” Owen asked, somehow sounding both amused and annoyed.

“Didn’t think of it,” Curt said as he started walking towards the door until a thought came to mind. “This doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t. But I could walk, you know,” Owen said.

“Sure you could,” Curt said, not putting down Owen, who rolled his eyes but relaxed in Curts’ grip as Curt stepped out the door and appeared back on the roof. They both blinked a few times as inside of the facility was really dark, while outside it was extremely sunny for four pm. Owen was looking around as Curt made his way to the far side of the roof, his grip on Curts’ shirt tightening the slightest bit as Curt approached the stairs along the side of the building. Curt carefully made his way down the stairs and back onto solid ground. He looked around, considering which way to go when Owen spoke up.

“Over there. There’s a car,” Owen said, pointing towards a black Impala that Curt hadn’t noticed before. Curt smiled and he made his way over to the car. Curt considered how best to proceed only for Owen to release one hand from the fabric of Curts’ shirt so he could try the door handle, revealing that the door wasn’t even locked. Curt shared an amused look with Owen before helping him sit down in the passenger seat. 

“I’m gonna check the trunk for a first aid kit, do you mind checking the glove box?” Curt asked, waiting for Owen to answer before going to check the trunk. Owen muttered something to quiet for Curt to hear as he went to check the glovebox.

“What was that?” Curt asked him.

“It’s called a ‘Boot’, Love,” Owen said as he shifted through the glove box, not finding any kind of first aid.

“No, it’s called a ‘trunk’, Owen,” Curt said, his heart swelling at the word ‘love’. Owen mock-glared at Curt, but Curt just smiled- which turned to a smirk as Owen turned back to the glove box, pink dusting his cheeks. Curt chuckled as he went to check the  _ trunk _ of the car, finding no first aid kit. With a sigh, Curt went around to the drivers’ seat of the car. Curt climbed in and sat down, glancing over at Owen who was bent down so he could look under the seat.

“Any luck?” Curt asked Owen.

“Can’t tell, it’s too dark,” Owen said. Curt frowned as Owen kept talking. “We’ll find one eventually. For now, let’s get out of here, huh?” Owen asked as he sat up again. He smiled at Curt, who smiled back, before holding up something for Curt to grab.

“The keys? Where’d you find them?” Curt asked as he accepted them.

“They were in the glove box,” Owen explained as he slouched back in his seat.

“What idiots,” Curt joked as he started up the car and started driving. Curt didn’t say anything for the first several minutes as he drove- Owen staring out the window- until Owen finally spoke up.

“What do we do now?” Owen asked quietly, his hand tapping at his knee on his uninjured leg and still looking out of the window. Curt thought for a moment.

“Well, first I’d like to find some kind of first aid kit for you,” Curt said, his eyes flickering to Owens’ leg briefly before quickly adding on. “Sorry again.”

“It’s fine, Love,” Owen said, glancing over at Curt briefly. Curt sent him a small smile in return- his heart fluttering at the old nickname- before continuing.

“After that, we can just… drive. We go wherever we want whenever we want,” Curt said, releasing the steering wheel with one hand to offer to Owen. Out of the corner of his eye, Curt saw Owen eye his hand, before slowly accepting it.

“If we’re doing whatever we want, do you think we can find a shower as well? I’d rather not be covered in blood while also stuck in a car for multiple days,” Owen said.

“Oh, of course. I’ll drive for a bit and find us a hotel. And not a shitty one like what M16 or A.S.S. would book,” Curt said.

“That sounds wonderful, Love,” Owen said with a smile.


	3. On The Lam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen has agreed to join Curt as they both go on the run and he reflects on what's happened as Curt finally finds a medkit. Meanwhile, Tatiana ends up in Curts' last location but doesn't find what she expects to.
> 
> TW: mentions of torture(Vague), mentions of manipulation, mentions of injury, blood
> 
> Next Update: Monday, July 6th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still looking for a beta reader for the story coming out later this month. You can contact me on Tumblr at poems-art-darkness-n-more, or if you don't have Tumblr and you're interested, let me know in the comments and we'll figure something out.

Somewhere in Russian Territory, Fifteen minutes later

Owen watched through the car window as Curt entered a pharmacy alone. He was… conflicted, to say the least. He was supposed to hate Curt. He was supposed to kill Curt. Chimera had told Owen that Curt would stop at nothing to kill him, but… he hadn’t done so.

Owen had spent the last four years being told Curt and M16 hated him and that his only chance of survival was with Chimera. Owen had spent the last four years trying to hate Curt. Owen had spent the last four years in constant pain that wouldn’t have happened if Curt hadn’t left. Yet despite all that, Owen hadn’t been able to stop the feelings that came back when he saw Curt again. He hadn’t been able to stop the fluttering in his heart or the concern that had built up inside him.

Owen was also confused. Chimera had told him that if Curt saw him again, he would kill him. And yet Curt could have easily killed him on that stairway… but he hadn’t. Curt could have easily decided to bury that bullet in his forehead… but he hadn’t. He’d just destroyed Owens’ watch and accidentally shot him in the leg. Curt had even apologized for that, something Chimera would never do.

Curt had apologized for a lot of things. Which didn’t make sense to Owen as if anyone should be apologizing, it should be him apologizing to Curt for… well, a lot of things. Torturing Curt, trying to kill Curt, killing that other guy, and that’s almost nothing compared to what else Owens’ done these past four years.

Owen watched through the windows as Curt talked to the cashier, a medkit, some snacks, and some other items in hand. Another thought occurred to Owen as he watched. Why hadn’t Curt killed him? Sure Owen didn’t  _ want  _ to die, but he deserved it. After everything he’d done in the last week or so alone, Owen deserved to die. Maybe this was some ploy by Curt. Maybe he was giving Owen hope and was planning to take it all away at the last moment. But Curt seemed so sincere in his actions and words.

Owen was half convinced as Curt waved to the store clerk and made his way back out to the car, quickly climbing into the driver’s seat with his goodies in hand.

“Guess what I’ve got,” Curt said with a smile as he offered the bag of snacks to Owen as he placed the medkit in the back seat. 

“Food, I saw you buying it,” Owen said as he took the bag.

“Not _just_ food. Look inside, Curt said as he started up the car and pulled out of the parking spot. Owen could tell Curt was watching him from the corner of his eye but ignored it in favor of digging through the bag to see what Curt bought. It was mostly junk food with the exception of a few apples- now, what a pharmacy was doing selling so much food, Owen wasn’t sure- as well as some water bottles, wipes, and a small hand towel. However, at the bottom of the bag was a packet of candy’ Owen hadn’t been able to enjoy in a long time. 

“You got NIPS?” Owen asked as he pulled the bag of caramel chocolates out of the shopping bag before looking up at Curt. A part of Owen still believed Curt was committing some kind of cruel trick on him like he would say ‘No, I bought NIPS for  _ me _ ,’ and he would eat them all himself. Another thought occurred to Owen, which he quickly voiced. “I thought you didn’t like NIPS all that much.”

“No, I don’t. I bought them for you,” Curt said, smiling at Owen before looking back to the road so he wouldn’t hit another car. Owen watched Curt for a moment- looking for any malice in his eyes- before looking back down at the candy in his hands. His eyes flickered to his left wrist. What he was looking for was hidden by dry blood, but he knew it was there. He looked back to Curt again before looking back to the candy.

“You think it’s alright if I have some now?” Owen asked after a long beat of silence. Curt glanced over at him- Owen didn’t see him, but he could feel Curts’ eyes- before he answered.

“I mean, you can have those whenever you want, but go ahead,” Curt said. Owen carefully opened the box and dropped a few of the square chocolates into his palm, hesitating again.

“Would you like some?” Owen asked Curt. Curt shook his head no.

“Nah. Although I do have some pixy stix in that bag, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing them for me,” Curt said, nodding his head towards the shopping bag still in Owens’ lap.

“Oh, yeah sure,” Owen said, placing the candy box openside up in one of the cup holders so he could dig through the bag. He found one of the dozen or so pixy stix and offered it Curt who let go of the wheel with one hand so he could grab the messy sweet from him. Owen watched from the corner of his eye as Curt ripped the end of the wrapping off with his teeth before dumping half of the sugary powder in his mouth. Then and only then did Owen finally eat one of the NIPS that were sitting in his hand.

Owen hadn’t had NIPS- or any kind of sugar, really- in four years. Chimera said there were more important things than chocolate or sweets. They said the same thing about alcohol and adding seasoning to a meal. So Owen had gotten used to- and sick of- overly bland food. Because of that, Owen felt that the chocolates were at least a dozen times better then he remembered and quickly ate up the rest of the chocolates in his hand, followed by another four more from the box.

“You enjoying those chocolates?” Curt asked, interrupting the silence that had filled the car.

“Yes, I- Yes. Thank you, Love. You didn’t have to get me them, but I appreciate it,” Owen said, cursing himself for the stutter because he shouldn’t be stuttering. He shouldn’t have been so caught off guard. Owen also realized he had subconsciously tensed up his left arm and relaxed. 

“Of course,” Curt said before he went quiet for a moment, glancing between Owen and the road before pulling off the road and parking. For some reason, this made Owen feel incredibly nervous and he hesitated for a second before asking Curt what he was doing.

“We’re far enough away and I still need to patch your leg,” Curt said, turning in his seat so he could reach into the back and find the first-aid kit he’d placed back there. “Besides, I think we need to talk,” Curt added, glancing at Owen before looking back to the back seat until he found it. Owen swallowed, not saying as Curt opened up the medkit and went through it before looking back at him.

“We might actually need to move you to the back,” Curt said, glancing between Owens’ leg and the backseat. Owen tried to not let the displeasure show on his face as he knew Curt was just trying to make his injury better.

“Alright… Should I climb over or just get out and go around?” Owen asked, knowing, either way, it was going to hurt his leg.

“Here, don’t do anything yet,” Curt said as he started digging around in his pockets. “I couldn’t just buy things like painkillers or drugs for infections without a prescription so while I was talking to the cashier I snagged… this,” Curt said as he held up a bottle of opioid pills. He offered a few to Owen who quickly popped them into his mouth, working hard to swallow them dry.

“Thanks,” Owen said, waiting for the painkillers to take effect.

“Of course. I’m going to go around so I can help you into the back seat,” Curt said as he started to climb out of the car. Owen hummed in response and watched as Curt came around and opened the door. It reminded Owen of a mission they’d done in France a few years ago, except Curt had been the one to get shot at that time. Owen frowned as he thought about how much had changed since then.

It took a few minutes and a lot of awkward stumbling for Curt to get Owen to the back seat, but they eventually managed to do it. Owen had his leg up on the back seat, his back leaning against the driver side wall, and he watched as Curt dug through the shopping back, pulling out a wash-cloth and a water bottle, which he quickly set to the side, before pulling out some scissors.

“Alright, I’m gonna have to cut your pant leg,” Curt said, looking at Owen for some kind of reaction.

“Can I do it instead?” Owen asked before Curt had a chance.

“Yeah, sure. Here,” Curt said, handing him the scissors. Owen accepted them and quietly went about cutting off the pant leg above his injury as Curt watched. When he finished, Curt spoke up again.

“This is going to hurt,” Curt warned him as he pulled out some disinfectant. Owen nodded and Curt waited for a second before he started cleaning the wound.

Russian Weapons Facility, Two Hours Later

Tatiana had been sneaking around this facility for at least an hour now, and she was quite surprised to not see anyone at all. Not a single person and yet the building was in pretty good shape.

“Do you see anything, Tatiana?” Barbra asked as her voice crackled through the watch, startling Tatiana for half a second.

“No, Barb. I don’t think anyone’s here,” Tatiana told her, looking around as she stalked down another empty, echoing hallway.

“According to my records the building was destroyed four years ago and reconstruction just finished last month. There’s probably no one working there for the time,” Barbra explained.

“Alright… You’re sure the tracking device says here?” Tatiana asked as she turned another hallway. This one just had a doorway at the end of the hall with ‘Stairway’ at the end.

“Positive. It even says you’re close by,” Barbra said.

“Alright, I’ll keep going,” Tatiana said as she pushed the door open, revealing another large empty room with a stairway leading up to a doorway in the wall. She could hear a faint ‘ping’-ing noise coming from the base of the stairs. Curious, Tatiana stalked closer until she found it, freezing as she saw it. Shattered on the ground in several pieces was Curts’ watch. It was what was making the pinging noise.

“Barb…” Tatiana said into her watch slowly.

“Yeah? My tracker says you’re right on top of him, have you found him? Is everything okay, Tatiana?” Barbara asked.

“I found his watch,” Tatiana told her.

“Wait, really?” Barbra asked, her voice rising in either surprise or panic. Tatiana couldn’t tell which.

“Yes, it’s almost completely destroyed,” Tatiana told her as she picked up the majority of the watch, looking around for a moment before looking up. “I think it was thrown off these stairs, I’m going to investigate.”

“Okay, be safe, Tati,” Barbra said before going silent. Tatiana didn’t respond as she crept up the stairs silently. She wasn’t even halfway up the stairs when she started smelling blood. She paused for a moment before continuing on until she saw it.

The first thing Tatiana saw was blood. A large puddle of it at the top of the landing, along with some dripping between the steps. The next thing was a bullet half-submerged in one of the steps. 

“Barb,” Tatiana said quietly.

“What, did you find him?” Barbra asked quickly.

“No… I found blood and a bullet in the floor,” Tatiana said.

“What? Well- well it’s probably the deadliest mans’ blood, right? It couldn’t possibly be Curts’,” Barbra insisted.

“Barbra, listen. As much as you don’t want to believe, there’s no other option,” Tatiana said. The only sound Tatiana heard in response was a sob before the line went dead. Tatiana sighed before turning and going back down the stairs and out the door she came in.


	4. A Much Needed Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt finds a decent hotel for the night and him and Owen finally have that talk.
> 
> TW: Blood, Gun wounds, Paranoia, Anxiety, old injuries, scars, operant conditioning tactics, past torture, past starvation, self-disgust.
> 
> Next Update: Saturday, July 11

Somewhere in Russia, Two Hours later.

Curt glanced at Owen- who was laying on his back in the back seat. Curts’ jacket was folded under Owens’ head as a pillow, the washcloth laying on top of the first aid kit- it was being used as padding since Owens’ leg needed to be elevated, so his foot was on top of that- and Owens’ jacket was draped over his torso like a really shitty blanket. It had been two hours since Curt had cleaned up Owens’ leg to the best of his ability, and now he was looking for a hotel for them to stay at. Curt glanced back at Owen again before looking back at the road. Owen had barely spoken since Curt had finished treating his leg almost four hours ago, and Curt was starting to get concerned. Not just that, but they also had ended up not talking about what happened. Curt read one of the road signs and grinned, quickly turning onto another road.

“We’ll be finding a hotel soon,” Curt told Owen as a city grew in the horizon. Owen hummed in acknowledgment as Curt estimated they’d be there in about ten minutes.

The next twenty minutes passed on in relative silence as Curt drove into the city and found a relatively upscale hotel. Curt was sick of the shitty motels A.S.S. would put him in and he thought it’d be fitting for him and Owen to start this journey together somewhere different. Plus, Curt had pocketed another guys’ credit card back at the pharmacy so the price wasn’t an issue. He finally pulled to a stop in the parking lot of a hotel that roughly translated to ‘Golden Hotel’, but left the car on.

“I’m going to go get us a room. Will you be fine here?” Curt asked as he turned around in his seat to face Owen.

“I’ll be fine,” Owen said, sitting up and using his arms for support.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a minute,” Curt said, starting to get out of the car.

“Curt, wait. You’ve got blood on your face,” Owen said before he could leave. Curt looked in the rear-view mirror and realized he did indeed have blood on his face. He quickly wiped it off with his arm, before turning back to Owen and smiling.

“Thanks,” he said. Owen nodded.

“Be safe, Curt,” Owen said softly.

“If anything seems suspicious, we’ll be out of here asap,” Curt promised him. Owen stared at him for a long minute before nodding and turning to look out the window by his feet.

Curt finally got out of the car and went to get a room for him and Owen- a process that took much longer then Curt expected- but pretty soon he had a room booked for him and Owen. Now the main problem was getting Owen to the room without gaining too much attention. Curt got back to the car and could see Owen looking around nervously.

“Hey,” Curt said, knocking on the car window to let Owen know he was here. Owen startled a bit, looking at Curt. “Is everything okay? I got a room.” 

“Yeah,” Owen said before looking down at his leg. “How’s this gonna work? You can’t exactly carry me in,” Owen said.

“Not sure. Maybe we can get through with you leaning on me,” Curt said. Owen nodded as Curt picked up the shopping bags- Curt had stopped at a thrift shop and found some cheap yet clean clothing for them to wear, along with some unused soaps- and looked over Owen again. “You should also probably put on my jacket. Your jacket and your shirt are covered in blood,” Curt pointed out. Owen hesitated before unfolding Curts’ jacket and pulling it on as Curt offered a hand to help him up. Owen accepted and soon the two were slowly making their way into the hotel, across the lobby, and finally into the elevator.

“How’s your leg?” Curt asked as they waited for the elevator to go up.

“Same as the last time you asked,” Owen said dryly.

“Right… sorry, again,” Curt said.

“...Let’s just get to the room,” Owen said after a moment. Curt nodded and the elevator door opened up, revealing a simple and empty hallway. Curt helped Owen down the hallway to the farthest door to the right, stumbled with the door key, and the two made their way into the room. 

The door opened into a living room- kitchen area with three doors. One of the doors was open, revealing what looked like a bathroom, and the other two were shut, but Curt figured they were bedrooms. He helped Owen to the couch and made sure he was comfortable before dropping the grocery bag on the floor and going to explore the rest of the hotel room.

The living room part had three large windows showing off the city on the wall opposite the door into the hallway. There were two small couches and an armchair surrounding a coffee table in the living room area. The kitchen was only separated because of an island with a few plush stools on the side of the living room, while the kitchen had a few cooking utensils and dishes on the counters and in drawers and cabinets.

Curt was aware of Owen watching him as he opened one of the doors and peeked inside to the small bedroom with two twin beds. There was a wardrobe against one of the walls and a nightstand between the two beds. He closed the door and opened the other door, looking into the larger bedroom with a king-sized bed that had a nightstand on either side. He closed the door and peeked into the bathroom, which was surprisingly clean, if not plain. All in all this room was leaps and bounds better then the shit-holes A.S.S. and M16 would put them.

Curt glanced at Owen for a moment. There was a lot they had to talk about but Curt wasn’t sure where to start.

“We need to talk?” Curt tried, sounding more like a question then he intended. Owen looked over at him for a moment before looking away.

“I know,” Owen said quietly, rubbing at his left wrist. There was still blood on his hands and Curt stared at it for a moment, frowning again.

“We can wait until you've cleaned up. I know you always hated feeling dirty after missions,” Curt said, remembering a conversation him and Owen had had several years ago.

-

_ Somewhere in Germany, 1954 _

_ “Come on, O. Let’s go to a bar or something and get shitfaced,” Curt said, a smile firmly planted on his face. They’d just successfully stolen some sort of research from an ex-concentration camp- they’d even had a daring escape after almost getting caught- and Curt was still riding on his adrenaline high. Now they were both walking down the street at close to two am. Up ahead was a turn down the road that led back to their hotel, but if they kept going straight, they’d arrive at a bar known in the area for having really good drinks. _

_ “Maybe later, Old boy,” Owen said, glancing around briefly to make sure no one was listening- which was pointless because no one was even around. “I’d rather go back to the hotel for now.” _

_ “Bah. Come on, babe,” Curt said, grinning at the flush that dusted Owens’ face at the use of the corny nick-name. _

_ “Later, Curt,” Owen said. _

_ “Come on, Owen. What’s wrong?” Curt asked as they got to the turn in the road and both stopped. _

_ “I just don’t feel like going to a bar,” Owen said. _

_ “Since when? We just successfully completed a mission, now’s the perfect time to get zozzled,” Curt said, causing Owen to let out a snort of a laugh. _

_ “‘Zozzled’? What is this the 1920s?” Owen asked. _

_ “Oh, I got more,” Curt said, grinning and leaning on Owen a bit. “Let’s go get some giggle water. You’re so cute when you’re half-seas over,” Curt finished, his grin widening as Owen scoffed and looked away, gently shoving Curt off of him. _

_ “As amusing as this is, Love, I don’t  _ feel _ cute. I  _ feel _ disgusting and would rather go shower off the sweat and grime. You can go ahead to the bar, but I’m going to the hotel,” Owen told him, taking a few steps towards the turn heading to the hotel. _

_ “I don’t think you’re disgusting,” Curt said simply. Owen sighed. _

_ “I know. But I do and I feel like I can’t relax like this, Okay?” Owen said. Curt frowned a bit before suddenly grinning and starting down the road to the hotel. _

_ “Okay, let’s go,” Curt said, grabbing Owens’ arm as he walked past and dragging him along. _

_ “What?” Owen asked, stumbling a bit at first before keeping pace with Curt. _

_ “Let’s go to the hotel. You can get your shower, I can run by the bar later, we can get drunk in our hotel room,” Curt said. _

_ “You could go get you drinks now, you’ll know where I am,” Owen said. _

_ “I’ll wait until we’re both clean. Plus, just the two of us drinking will be so fun,” Curt said, winking at Owen at the end. Owen scoffed again, but a smile was tugging at his lips. _

_ “Alright you rapscallion,” Owen said as they approached their hotel. _

_ “And you’re saying I’m using old words,” Curt said with a laugh. _

-

Owen looked surprised for a moment before looking away again.

“We need to talk,” Owen said simply.

“Yes, but I want you to be comfortable,” Curt said. Owen was quiet for a long moment before nodding.

“Alright... “ Owen said quietly before moving to stand, only to stumble and almost fall over. Curt dashed up and managed to grab Owens’ arm before he could collapse.

“Are you alright?” Curt asked.

“Yeah,” Owen said, not meeting Curts’ eyes.

“...Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?” Curt asked him. Owen opened his mouth but ended up not saying anything, which was answer enough for Curt.

“Alright, let’s go,” Curt said, helping Owen limp along to the bathroom. Curt helped him sit down on the toilet before rushing back into the main room to grab the clothes and soap he’d bought earlier. He left them in the bathroom with Owen- along with some bandages in case Owen decided to switch them out while he got washed up. For a moment Curt just kind of stood there with Owen avoiding eye contact. 

“I’ll be in there if you need anything,” Curt said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the living room. Owen nodded.

“Alright,” Owen said quietly. Curt turned and walked out of the bathroom. He turned back to close the door when he heard Owen say something else, but he wasn’t sure what.

“What was that?” Curt asked.

“...Thank you, Curt. For everything,” Owen said quietly. Curt smiled at him softly.

“Of course,” Curt said before closing the door.

Curt crossed to the couch and sat down quietly, looking around the room again. He was starting to feel antsy and had a surplus of energy. He bounced his leg in an attempt to burn some nervous energy, unsure why he was nervous. He glanced out the window, seeing darkness, which made sense for 8:20 pm. He heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and sighed before digging through the grocery bag. Eventually, he pulled out one of the apples he’d bought earlier to eat, hoping he could take his mind off his anxiety.

Hotel bathroom, twenty minutes later

Owen swallowed nervously. He was sitting on the closed toilet lid, finger-combing his hair nervously. He felt somewhat better now that he was clean and in fresh clothes, as he’d finished showering, re-wrapped his leg, and was now wearing some soft- if not a little worn- trousers. He hadn’t pulled on a shirt yet, he was busy staring at the faded, jagged scars along his torso. There were hundreds of them, big and small crisscrossing all over his upper body. Some of them were newer and red, but a lot of them were old. It hurt to move too much, but it wasn’t like there was anything Owen could do, so he ignored it. His eyes moved down to his left wrist which was covered in ugly brownish-red electrical scars that fractured along his skin. He brought his right hand up to rub at the marking, unintentionally flinching at the feeling.

That Fucking Watch. It had caused him so much pain these last two years. Chimera had started forcing him to behave how they wanted, and whenever he didn’t, he was electrocuted. If he gave up too much information, he was shocked. If he hesitated on a kill, he was shocked. If he refused to do something, he was shocked. If he reacted too strongly or made the fact he was being shocked obvious, he was shocked again except the voltage was higher. If he ever tried to take off the watch he was shocked so badly he couldn’t stop shaking for hours.

After four consistent years of that, Owen had stopped trying to stop them. He’d stopped playing bold and had started asking permission for everything. No matter what he tried, it was like he couldn’t please the higher-ups. They were always mad, always hurting him for one reason or another. Owen wanted to talk to Curt. He wanted to trust him again, but everything Chimera had told him made him hesitant. He was scared and he felt dumb for being scared.

Owen glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He was pale and had dark bags under his eyes, his hair- while better then it had been before- was limp and he had the scraggly, patchy beginnings of a beard forming that he wanted off his face. He was also skinnier then he had been just four years ago, but he tried not to think about all the nights he’d been starved for fucking something up.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, You okay there, O?” Curt asked through the door.

“Ye- yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out soon,” Owen called back, mentally cursing himself for the stutter because where the fuck had that come from?

“No rush, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. If you need anything, feel free to ask,” Curt called. Owen didn’t respond and he heard Curt walking away from the door.

With a sigh, Owen pulled on the shirt Curt had given him- a long sleeve fleece button-up- before pushing himself to his feet. He kept the majority of his weight off his leg and grabbed onto the counter so he could hop along towards the door.

Upon opening the bathroom door, the temperature difference was immediate as the bathroom was still a little steamy from the warm shower- a luxury Owen hadn’t had at Chimera- that he had taken. Curt was sitting at the couch holding a pixy stix in one hand and staring out the window, but he quickly looked over as Owen came limping into the small hallway. 

Curt looked rather relaxed, which surprised Owen. How did Curt know Owen wasn’t just biding his time until he could kill him or something of a similar nature? Owen wasn’t planning anything like that, of course, but he didn’t understand how Curt could trust him when he could barely trust himself.

“Hey,” Curt said.

“Hey,” Owen echoed softly before taking another limping step towards the couch.

“Do you need some help?” Curt asked, already standing up.

“I’ve got it,” Owen said, keeping his hand on the wall for balance. Curt stepped closer, hovering around Owen just out of arms-length but not touching him. Owen made his way to the couch without falling over and sat down, Curt sitting down next to him but just short of touching him. 

Owen didn’t say anything for a few minutes, he wasn’t sure  _ what  _ to say. Curt wasn’t saying anything either, leaving them both sitting in awkward silence for several minutes.

“I’m not sure where to start…” Owen admitted.

“The beginning’s a good place to start,” Curt said, his tone both a little awkward and hinted with a little bit of humor, trying to lighten the mood. Owen gave a weak smile before looking down again. He wasn’t sure where the beginning would be.

“I guess... the beginning would be the fall…” Owen said quietly. Curt winced and Owen looked up at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry, Owen. I didn’t mean to do that to you,” Curt said.

“It’s fine, Curt,” Owen said. Curt opened his mouth, probably to argue that it  _ wasn’t  _ fine, but Owen kept talking before he could. “After the fall I don’t know how long I was trapped there, unable to move…” Owen admitted, pausing for a moment to exhale slowly.

“And then Chimera found me… and they took me back to their facility and they threw me in a cell. They…” Owen trailed off, shutting his eyes and breathing shakily. A hand on his knee startled him into opening his eyes and jerking away a bit. Curt lifted his hand away from Owens’ knee and held up his hands in a peaceful gesture.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Curt said.

“It’s fine,” Owen said, but it wasn’t fine. Not because Curt had startled him, but because Owen had even gotten startled. He rubbed at his left wrist briefly again before continuing.

“They… God, I don’t even know what all they did to me… I was constantly in pain and starving... And they told me things about you and M16...“ Owen looked over at Curt briefly, before looking away because he didn’t want to see Curts’ expression. “I didn’t want to believe them… but I started to after a year or so. I didn’t want to work for them… but I was sick of being hurt and starving and electrocuted and-” Owen cut himself off and took a few deep breaths so he wouldn’t have a breakdown.

“Owen…” Curt said softly as a hand tentatively appeared on his shoulder. Owen didn’t look at him. Instead, he was fighting back the urge to cry that had suddenly appeared. 

“Owen, hey, look at me,” Curt said softly. Owen took a deep breath before turning his head to look at Curt. He was expecting to see disappointment or disgust in Curts’ expression. He didn’t see any of that. Instead, he saw concern. Something about that broke something inside of Owen and the next thing he knew his eyes were filling with tears that he desperately tried to blink away.

“Woah, it’s okay,” Curt said, as he pulled Owen into a hug. Owen tensed at first before relaxing and burying his face in Curts’ shoulder. His hands gripped onto the back of Curts’ shirt and he could feel his hands shaking as he let out a shuddered breath. Curt was rubbing circles in Owens’ back with one hand and was trying to comfort him.

Owen wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but he was the first to pull away. He was still shaking a bit, but he wasn’t sure why. Curt had released Owen willingly, but this time their legs were touching and they were sitting just a bit closer than before.

“I’m sorry,” Owen said after a moment, looking at the wet spot on Curts’ shoulder from his tears before looking away. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

“You don’t need to apologize. You’ve been through a lot” Curt said.

“But that was unprofessional of me. I should have kept it together,” Owen insisted.

“Fuck being professional, O. We don’t  _ have _ to be professional now. We just have to be us,” Curt said, resting his hand on Owens’ knee again. This time, Owen didn’t flinch away, just eyed Curts’ hand for a moment before looking back at Curt.

“Thank you…” Owen said softly.

“Are you kidding? Owen, I’m  _ honored _ to be here for you. I wish I could go back and change what happened, but I can’t. So being here for you now is the next best thing,” Curt said, his voice full of sincerity and love. Owen felt tears welling up in his eyes again- this time because of how grateful he was that Curt still loved him despite how he didn’t deserve it. He'd betrayed M16. He'd betrayed Curt. And yet here Curt was, comforting him. Curt brought his free hand up to Owens’ face, causing him to flinch, tense up, and shut his eyes.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I wanted to wipe your tears away,” Curt said softly. Owen opened his eyes slightly and met Curts’ eyes.

“It’s fine,” Owen said softly, his eyes flickering down to his left wrist before rubbing at it again.

“You keep messing with your wrist, are you okay?” Curt asked. Owen looked up briefly to see Curt looking between Owen and his wrist.

“I- yeah… I just…” Owen sighed, trying to think of how best to continue. He eventually decided the best way to explain was to show Curt and pulled down his left sleeve. He could feel Curts’ eyes watching.

A small intake of breath was the only sound Curt made to signify he saw it and Owen watched as Curt brought his hands up to hover around Owens’ wrist, stopping just short of touching him. Owen looked up and met Curts’ eyes, seeing that he was silently asking if he could touch them. Owen faintly nodded and looked back down to watch as Curts’ hand delicately grazed the skin, gently tracing over the scars.

“Chimera… they made me wear that watch after they first took me in. If I ever… If I ever misbehaved or- or tired to take it off it would electrocute me. If I stopped reacting to the shocks, they’d turn up the voltage,” Owen explained quietly before Curt could ask. His hands were shaking a little worse than before as Curt guided Owens’ hand up to his mouth before pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist where the scars were the worst.

“I’m sorry, Owen,” Curt said quietly.

“It’s fine, Curt-” Owen started.

“No, it’s not. If I hadn’t been so fucking cocky and egotistical none of this would have happened,” Curt said, his voice lowering again as he continued. “I changed the bomb time, I destroyed that railing, I dropped the banana peel… It’s all my fault, Owen.” Owen swallowed quietly, watching Curt for a minute.

“Curt, I’ve followed this same train of thought as you while I was there…” Owen started, causing Curt to open his eyes. “But I still don’t hate you for that… You can’t go on blaming yourself.”

“I’ve been blaming myself for the last four years…” Curt said.

“Then I think it’s time for you to stop,” Owen said quietly.

“I don’t know if I can,” Curt admitted. Owen bit at his lip for a moment before continuing.

“Then I’ll help you…” Owen said, freeing his wrist from Curts’ grip so he could instead grab his hand. Curt looked at Owen for a moment before giving him a soft smile that set butterflies free in his stomach and made his heart skip a beat.

“And I’ll help you deal with everything Chimera did to you…” Curt promised.


	5. Dinner For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt and Owen order some room service and talk a bit more as Barbara calls her boss about what happened.  
> TW: Minor panic attacks, depressing thoughts, references to past abuse, slight alcoholism
> 
> Next Update: Thursday, July 16th

Curt and Owens’ Hotel Room, 9:30 pm.

Owen heard the shower stop and Curt shuffling around in the bathroom. He was relieved Curt had accepted him back again, but he kept feeling panicky about all this. Like Curt would take him to A.S.S. or M16 or even Chimera. Just the thought of that was making his hands shake again.

Owen focused on his hands until they stopped shaking, only snapping his head upwards as he heard someone else breathing in the room. He quickly realized it was Curt- having come out of the bathroom in a dark grey shirt and some loose shorts- who was watching him from the hallway.

“Hey,” Curt said.

“Hey,” Owen repeated, looking back down at his hands as he heard Curt approach. Curt sat down next to Owen and after a moment he realized how tense he was and forced himself to relax.

“Are you alright?” Curt asked him after a moment.

“As alright as I can be,” Owen said. Curt frowned and opened his mouth to say something when his stomach growled.

“Are you hungry, Curt?” Owen asked, his tone light and teasing. He was tired of being asked that and was relieved to have the distraction.

“Oh, starving. You wanna order room service?” Curt offered, already pulling out the credit card he’d stolen earlier. Owen shrugged.

“Why not?” Owen asked. Curt threw his arms up in a cheer and dashed to one of the counters in the kitchen where a menu was set up next to a telephone.

“What should we get?” Curt asked as he looked through the menu.

“I’m fine with whatever,” Owen said, still sitting on the couch. Curt looked over at him and looked confused for a second before seeming to suddenly remember why he wasn’t getting up. He rushed back around the counter and threw himself onto the couch next to Owen. He held the menu between them so both him and Owen could read it. It was written in Russian, but that wasn’t an issue for him or Curt.

“So many options, what are you gonna get?” Curt asked. Owen looked over the menu before shrugging. He hadn’t had anything like this in four years and was a little overwhelmed by the options- which both surprised and annoyed him.

“Come on, no ideas? Really?” Curt asked.

“I’ve not had anything like this in years. I’m not quite sure what to pick,” Owen admitted. Curt frowned a small bit and looked back at the menu.

“Well, what sounds the best?” Curt asked. Owen looked over the menu again and noticed something at the bottom of the Entrees’ section.

“The double lamb chops and mint jelly sound good,” Owen eventually said.

“Alright. Want any soups, salads, appetizers, vegetables?” Curt asked.

“Baked potatoes and… the onion soup,” Owen decided.

“Perfect. I’m going to order,” Curt said, standing up before turning back to Owen. “Want to come sit at the island?” Curt asked. Owen looked down at his leg. It had hurt like hell to get washed up and limp into the living room and Owen didn’t much feel like getting up again. But he also knew he’d probably end up moving over there anyway because he hated eating on the couch. Plus, eating soup on the couch sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. So, reluctantly, Owen made to stand up.

“I could help, you know,” Curt offered, hovering nearby so that if Owen needed help, Curt could help him. 

“I’m fi-” Owen said, trying to argue that he would be fine, only for pain to shoot up his leg as he put too much weight on his injured leg. He doubled over and almost fell over before Curt managed to steady him.

“You’ll be fine?” Curt asked. Owen scoffed and looked away as Curt scooped him up again like he had at the facility.

Curt managed to pull one of the stools out from under the counter with his foot and then helped him sit down before going around the island to the telephone and dialing up the number for room service.

“Hello. I’m in room 14-12, I’d like to put in an order for room service,” Curt said in Russian. He paused for a moment as whoever was on the other line said something.

“Yes, I’d like two bowls of onion soup, the double lamb chops with mint jelly, one serving of the baked potatoes, the boneless trout, two servings of french fries, two milkshakes- vanilla and chocolate- and two slices of chocolate cake,” he said, followed by another pause. “Um, let me check,” he said before covering the receiver with his hand and turning to Owen.

“Want anything to drink?” Curt asked him in English. Owen thought for a moment before shaking his head no. “A bottle of vodka’d be great, Thank you,” Owen fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Half an hour? Alright. See you then, goodbye,” Curt said before hanging up.

“We ordered a lot of food, didn’t we,” Owen said.

“Yeah, but in my defense, I skipped breakfast, spent lunch either locked in a closet or chasing you, and all I’ve had today is those pixy stix and an apple,” Curt said. Owen frowned. Admittedly, he didn’t know why he was bringing this up because the only thing he’d had today was a breakfast bar and those NIPS Curt had bought him, but something else caught his attention.

“Why did you skip breakfast?” Owen asked him.

“To hung-over to hold anything down,” Curt said with a shrug.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Owen said.

“A lot has changed,” Curt said. Owen frowned and looked down at his hands that were on the counter, rubbing at his wrist.

“Hey, O, how come you didn’t want anything?” Curt asked after a moment.

“Ah, well, I’ve not had any alcohol since before the fall. My tolerance has probably gone down more then Icarus’ fell,” Owen said, looking at Curt but still rubbing at his wrist.

“We’ll build it back up again,” Curt said, smiling at him before hastily adding on “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I don’t want to start now, but eventually,” Owen said with a smile. Curts’ stomach growled again and he groaned.

“Are you alright there, Curt?” Owen asked.

“No, I’m fucking hungry,” Curt whined as he came around the island and sat next to Owen on another stool. He laid his forehead on Owens’ shoulder and Owen chuckled and patted his back with one hand.

“The food ‘ll be here soon, Love. Don’t worry,” Owen said, the old nickname slipping out for the fourth or fifth time since they’d reunited. It wasn’t that the statement was wrong, but Owen felt like maybe it was too much too soon. The thoughts quickly vanished as Curt turned his head up and smiled softly at Owen.

“Thanks, Babe,” Curt said quietly. The dorky yet endearing nickname, combined with the kind smile and how close their faces were, lead to Owens’ face turning a light shade of pink. He turned his head away as Curt chuckled.

“Yeah, of course. With everything you’ve done for me it’s only fair I return the favor,” Owen said. A hand-turned his face back to Curt, who was still smiling at him.

“You don’t have to return the favor…” Curt said, his voice low but the proximity allowed Owen to hear him perfectly.

“You could have killed me on that stairway…” Owen said. He wasn’t sure if the ‘You should have’ he was thinking of echoed in Curts’ mind as well, but he kept talking before it could be brought up. “I owe you my life.”

“You shouldn’t have to. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been a dumbass,” Curt whispered.

“That’s in the past, Curt,” Owen said.

“It’s pretty damn present in my mind,” Curt said.

“It won’t always be,” Owen said. “I’ll help you… like I said I would.”

“And I’ll help you,” Curt said. Owens’ face was maybe an inch away from Curts’ and they were slowly getting closer when.

‘Knock, knock, knock.’ Owen jerked away as the loud thudding at the door replaced the butterflies in his stomach with a pit of anxiety, almost falling out of the seat if not for Curt managing to grab his arms and steadying him.

“Room Service!” someone called in Russian from the hallway. Curt stood up, grabbed the credit card, and rushed towards the door.

“Hello,” Curt said in Russian as the door opened.

“Hello, sir. I’ve got your food here,” the man said. Owen tuned them out and focused on his breathing and forcing the sudden panic away. He took deep, measured breaths for a few moments before opening his eyes right in time to watch Curt and the other man bring in the food and set it on the counters. He sent a weak smile to the man who seemed to say something to Curt, but Owen didn’t register what was said. Pretty soon the man left and Curt was standing in front of Owen, talking softly and eventually pulling him into a hug. After a few minutes, the panic melted away and Owen sighed, his face once again buried in Curts’ shoulder.

“Sorry, I- I’m sorry,” Owen said, lifting his head up but not pulling away.

“You don’t have to apologize, O,” Curt said. Owen looked down before pulling away from the hug. He didn’t know why he was so panicky but he felt dumb for it.

”I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Owen admitted quietly.

“You’ve been through a bad experience and your brain is trying to stop you from being in that situation again… through panicking,” Curt said.

“That’s kind of pointless, isn’t it,” Owen muttered bitterly.

“I’m sure any other spy who’s lived to retirement would agree,” Curt said, sitting down next to him again. Owen hummed in agreement as Curt picked up the bottle of vodka, popped open the bottle, and took a long sip. Owen considered commenting on how unusual that was of Curt but changed his mind as he realized he had too many issues to criticize him. Instead, he turned to the plate of food before him and waited for Curt to start eating. Curt soon took a bite of his food and Owen took this to start eating his own food.

Owen had intended to eat slowly. Intended. However, he’d gotten so used to flavorless food- except for the occasional mold- with so little variety you couldn’t tell the difference, that as soon as he took the first bite he was almost overwhelmed with how good it tasted. It only took a few minutes before Owen had wolfed all the lamb chops and the baked potatoes, and he was about to move on to the soup.

“Someones’ hungry,” Curt said jokingly. Owen knew he was trying to joke, but something about that comment made Owen feel guilty and he immediately slowed his pace. Not stopping, but slowing down. Curt seemed to immediately notice the difference and was quick to apologize.

“I didn’t mean it to be rude, you know,” Curt said.

“I know,” Owen said simply, trying to force away the guilt that seemed to be coming to smother him. A long moment of silence passed before Curt spoke up again.

“...Are you alright?” Curt asked him.

“Yes, what makes you think I’m not?” Owen asked as he turned his head to look at him. Curt bit at his bottom lip for a moment before continuing.

“You’re… well, you’re shoveling through that food really quickly and that’s not like you,” Curt explained quietly. Owen completely paused his eating and looked down at his hands as he thought. On one hand, if Owen told Curt about his shitty living conditions, Curt would know it was nothing major. On the other hand, it would probably make Curt feel bad since he kept- nonsensically, in Owen's mind- blaming himself for everything. 

“O?” Curt asked after a moment. Owen looked up at Curt, easily reading the concern in his loves’ eyes and he decided to tell him.

“Chimera has something against giving prisoners and soldiers seasoning or anything with flavor. Everything I ate was… bland, to say the least,” Owen said. Curt frowned for a moment before responding.

“Well never again,” Curt said.

“Never again, what?” Owen asked.

“No bland food, ever again. Not while I’m around to steal credit cards,” Curt said with a grin. Owen chuckled and dug back into his food.

“Thank you, Love,” Owen said, sending him a small, grateful smile.

“You kidding, O? It’s the least I could do for you,” Curt said.

“No, really. You’ve done so much for me. You didn’t have to,” Owen said.

“What else would I have done?” Curt asked. Owen frowned for a moment.

“You could have taken me prisoner to A.S.S. or… You could have killed me,” Owen said as he finished off his soup.

“I would never,” Curt said, sounding 100 percent serious. Owen nodded, looking at his soup bowl.

“Owen, I’m serious. I would  _ never _ do anything like that,” Curt said. Owen turned his head to look at Curt and almost regretted it. Curts’ gaze was firm and serious, leaving little room for doubt in Owens’ mind. Owen nodded once and looked down at his wrist when a thought came to mind.

“Hey, Curt?” Owen asked.

“Yeah?” Curt asked.

“How did you know to get rid of my watch?” Owen asked him.

“I figured something was up. You kept tensing up and your arm kept twitching to the side. I wasn’t sure what was up, but I know you well enough to figure it was something,” Curt said.

“Thank god for you knowing me so well,” Owen said softly. Curt hummed and took another sip of his vodka.

“You want some of my fries?” Curt asked, sliding one of his two servings of chips closer to Owen. Owen considered saying no, but he loved chips and hadn’t had any in years.

“Maybe just a few,” Owen said, grabbing a few of the chips as Curt grinned. “And it’s ‘Chips’, love,” Owen said, causing Curt to laugh.

“Whatever you say, O. Just enjoy the  _ fries _ ,” Curt said. Owen scoffed and ate a few of the fries.

“Thank you, Curt. Truly,” Owen said with a smile. Curt returned the smile as he kept eating his own dinner.

“Of course, Owen. I’m more than happy to help you out,” Curt said before looking back at his food. Owen was quiet for a moment and looked down at Curts’ hand- which was hanging at his side. After a moment, Owen reached down and grabbed Curts’ freehand.

Curt didn’t react for a moment and Owen wondered if he’d pushed his luck too far and went to pull his hand away when Curts’ grip tightened on his hand. Owen glanced at Curt who sent him a small smile as they both intertwined their fingers. 

In that moment, Owen decided that no matter what happened in the future, no matter what misfortune came their way, this would be the moment to keep him moving forward.

Somewhere in New Jersey, Four Pm.

It was sometime around four that the phone on Cynthia Houstons’ desk started ringing. She honestly wasn’t sure who it was, as her phone call with the president about what happened in Geneva wasn’t until tomorrow and there were very few people who knew her phone number and even fewer who would call her. She debated answering or not but decided a phone call would be much more interesting than the inch of paperwork currently sitting on her desk.

“Hello?” she asked, unsure who she was talking to.

“Cynthia?” Someone sniffled from across the line. It took Cynthia a moment to recognize who was talking.

“Barbara Lavernor. Life as an enemy to your country with a guy who’s never noticed you, a man who’s always in disguise, and a Russian not working out for you?” Cynthia asked, taking a puff of her cigarette as she finished talking. She’d been expecting a lot in the way of responses, but a sob wasn’t one of them.

“I’m sorry- I- I-” Barbara tried before letting out another sob. Cynthia frowned, letting her cigarette dangle from her fingers. Sure she was pissed that three of her best had gone rogue, but that didn’t mean she wanted something truly awful to happen to them. And whatever happened did sound awful to make Barbara cry so much.

“Barbara? What’s wrong?” Cynthia asked. She heard soft talking from Barbara’s side and the phone being moved as Barbara’s cries became quiet.

“Hello?” someone with a Russian accent asked.

“Who the fuck is this?” Cynthia asked.

“My name is Tatiana. I-” Tatiana started.

“Oh, you’re the bitch who caused all this bullshit,” Cynthia said, cutting her off as she took another drag of her cigarette. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Well, Cynthia, Barbara wanted to call you about what’s happened recently-” Tatiana tried again.

“You mean that big ole cluster fuck you four caused?” Cynthia asked, cutting her off again. Tatiana sighed over the phone line.

“Yes, that,” Tatiana said. “Anyway. We need to tell you about-”

“You need to tell me what? I’m sorry, but you don’t work for me. Neither does Barbara in fact. So whatever information you have, you and Barbara and the informant and fucking  _ Curt _ you can go fuck around and deal with it yourself, you-” Cynthia told her.

“They’re dead!” Tatiana yelled, cutting her off. Cynthia went quiet for a moment.

“...What?” Cynthia asked.

“The Deadliest man alive… he shot The Informant. Curt when after him…” Tatiana explained. Cynthia went quiet as the world became muted. 

Sure, she was a cold bitch most of the time, but she did care about Curt. He was like her son. She’d always done her best to cover him, even when he was being a dumbass. When evidence of his… true relationship ended up on her desk, she took care of it and made sure no one ever saw it. She allowed him to take all the time he needed after the incident. And now he was gone…

This was why she never got attached.

“Where are you?” Cynthia asked.

“What?” Tatiana asked.

“I said ‘Where are you’. If we’re gonna get you help, we’ll need to know your location,” Cynthia said.


	6. What About Hotel Rooms In The Sixties Were Entertaining?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt gets them both Breakfast and a new card while Owen tries to battle the boredom that comes with being injured and alone for a long time.  
> TW: Minor Violence, /very/ slight reference to past abuse, minor anxious thoughts  
> Next Update: Tuesday, July 21st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just give a quick shout out to my friend lilith-lovett on Tumblr, who watched The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals for the first time ever while yesterday while I was going over this chapter and who had me dying of laughter with some of her messages. It was just a great time all around.

Curt and Owens’ Hotel Room, 9:08 am

Curt yawned as he woke up, sitting up with a stretch. He wasn’t sure what time it was and he didn’t really care as he felt so well-rested. He was in one of the twin beds in the smaller bedroom and, looking towards the other bed in the room, he spotted Owen. He still loved Owen and was pretty sure Owen still loved him, but they wanted to give it some time to get more comfortable with each other. They had agreed a good way to start would be sharing a room.

Owen was still asleep in his bed, curled up on his side with his back to the wall, and his face half-hidden in his pillows. It had to be the most relaxed Curt had seen Owen since they’d first reconnected again. 

Curt stretched out his back and was suddenly very aware of the fact he needed to use the bathroom and quickly got up to do so, pausing for a moment as the world spun in response to his hangover. He powered through it and when he returned Owen was awake but still laying down, blinking groggily but not yet getting up.

“Morning, O,” Curt said with a smile. Owen hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t move to get up.

“Wow. you’re tired,” Curt joked, digging through the bag he’d kept their spare clothes in so he could change out of his pj's.

“I am… fucking… exhausted,” Owen muttered, his voice half-muffled by the pillow. Curt chuckled and checked the clock on the wall.

“Well, it’s almost nine-thirty. Would you like me to go get you some… coffee or tea or something?” Curt offered.

“Sure…” Owen muttered, still not moving. Curt chuckled again as he found some clothing to wear.

“Well, there’s a breakfast buffet downstairs and I’m going to go get some breakfast… a new card… maybe a map,” Curt told him.

“Alright, I’ll get up soon,” Owen said, not moving at all. Curt grinned and went to step back into the bathroom.

“I’m gonna change in the bathroom and then I'll be off,” Curt told him. Owen hummed again as Curt left the room and changed into the new clothes. He finished changing and tried to finger-comb his hair since they didn’t have a hairbrush. Before leaving, Curt poked his head into the bedroom one last time, seeing that Owen was now partially sitting up and slowly waking up.

“I’ll be back soon,” Curt reminded him.

“Okay, Love,” Owen said drowsily. Curt smiled as his heart fluttered and he turned to leave, trying to force the smile off his face as he stepped out of the hotel room and into the hallway. 

As Curt stepped into the hallway, a lady did the same a few doors down.

“Hello,” The lady said in Russian.

“Hello,” Curt repeated, nodding curtly to her as he started towards the elevator.

“Going to breakfast?” she asked, also making her way to the elevator.

“Yes, you?” Curt asked.

“Yes, my husband and kids are still asleep so I thought some away time would be nice,” she said. “I’m Anfisa Semenov,” she introduced as the elevator opened.

“I’m Alek Petrov,” Curt said, using the name on his stolen credit card. They both stepped inside and Curt allowed her to hit her button first as they were both going to the lobby.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Anfisa said.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Curt said, waiting for the elevator to take them down.

“So what brings you to Smolensk?” Anfisa asked.

“I’m moving for work. This is the halfway point so I thought I’d take a day to rest,” Curt lied. “You?”

“Our house is getting fixed up, we couldn’t stay there,” Anfisa asked. There was a beat of silence before Anfisa spoke up again.

“Are you traveling with anyone?... a significant other, perhaps?” She asked. Curt tried to ignore the look she sent him as he answered.

“A friend of mine who lives in the town I'm moving to is helping me move. He’s in our room right now,” Curt said, giving a half lie as the elevator door opened. He allowed her to step out first and looked around the lobby for a moment, deciding to ask the people upfront where to find a map before going to breakfast.

“I hope to see you around, Mr. Alek,” Anfisa said when she realized he wasn’t going to the buffet yet.

“Me too,” Curt said with a fake smile before turning towards the front desk.

The front desk was extremely busy- checking in an extremely large party- and It took close to twenty minutes before an employee at the front desk could get to him and another ten before they could give him a map of the town. Before he could leave, one of the employees said if he wanted, he could have a map of Europe and Asia sent to his room, but it would cost extra. Curt agreed and told them his room before finally going to the buffet to get breakfast for him and Owen.

While he was in line, he saw Anfisa sitting nearby and sipping coffee. He pretended not to notice her as he grabbed some waffles for himself and an omelet for Owen. As he went looking for drinks, he noticed an irritated guy walking in and making a bee-line for Anfisa. Curt ignored them as best he could until he eventually found an employee at a drink bar and asked them how to get some drinks and after several minutes they had some black tea for Owen and a black Russian for himself. 

As he was paying for it all, he noticed Anfisa and the guy also paying for food and heading towards the elevator. Unlike Curt- who was managing to balance his drinks and food on a tray the employee had given him to use- they had a cart loaded with food for at least five people. Based on that and the fancy outfit the guy was wearing, they clearly had money to burn. A plan came to mind and Curt grinned before rushing ahead, careful not to spill his drinks.

“Hold the elevator,” he called as Anfisa went to hit the button for their floor. She perked up as he stepped into the elevator.

“Thank you,” Curt said as the guy shifted between him and Anfisa.

“What floor?” The guy asked gruffly.

“Floor eight,” Curt said.

“Us too,” the guy said as the elevator door slid shut. There was a moment of silence before Anfisa spoke up.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Mr. Alek,” Anfisa said.

“It’s nice to see you too, Mrs. Anfisa,” Curt said, trying to play polite.

“You two… know each other?” the guy asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Your lovely wife is a few doors down from mine, we caught the elevator down together this morning,” Curt said, fighting back the desire to grin as he registered the suspicion in the guy’s eyes. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Alek Petrov, It’s nice to meet you Mr…” Curt introduced himself before trailing off to ask the other guy for his name.

“Eduard Semenov,” he said before eyeing the food Curt had. “You here with your wife?” Eduard asked.

“Oh, no. No, I’m traveling with a friend who is helping me move. He has a bad leg so I’m getting breakfast for us both. I’m afraid I’m not in any relationship like that,” Curt said, his eyes flickering to Anfisa and then back to him, struggling to keep the humor out of his tone as he watched irritation and anger build up in the other man's eyes. “Although I’ve been looking.”

Curt pretended not to notice the anger being sent his way by Eduard as the door opened. He allowed Eduard and Anfisa to leave the elevator first, and followed them until they got to their door, then passed to his own door.

“Mr. Petrov, would you mind talking with me for a moment,” Eduard asked, his eyes flickered to Anfisa for a moment. “Alone?” Curt had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen.

“Sure. Just let me put this in my hotel room,” Curt said.

“Of course, just meet me out here when you’re done,” Eduard said as Anfisa looked between them both nervously before pushing the cart of food into her room. Curt opened the door to him and Owen’s hotel room and walked in- the door closing behind him- placing the food and drinks on the island where Owen was sitting.

“Hello, Love,” Owen said, sending him a small smile before looking back down at the map which must have been sent to their room while Curt was gone. He was still in his pajamas, but he looked more awake then he had been

“Hey. You can go ahead and eat, I gotta do something quickly,” Curt said, turning to head back to the hallway.

“What? What are you doing?” Owen asked.

“Getting us a new card,” Curt said, looking over his shoulder to grin at Owen before stepping back into the hallway and closing the door behind him again.

“Well, Mr. Eduard, what did you want to talk abou-” Curt asked, only for his question to be cut off as Eduard shoved him harshly against the door, his side slamming into the doorknob harshly.

“What games are you playing, Mr. Petrov?” Eduard asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Curt said, one of his hands coming up to weakly grab at Eduards’ arms while his other hand dug into the other man’s back pocket and grabbed his wallet.

“You think I don’t see it? The way you look at my wife? You’re trying to steal her from me. Well, you can’t. She’s mine,” Eduard growled. Curt pretended to be scared- pocketing Eduards’ wallet in the process- as he continued. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave my family alone. And if I find out you tried  _ anything  _ with her, I  _ will  _ make you regret it. Understood?”

“Understood,” Curt said, trying to appear nervous. Eduard glared for another moment before releasing him and turning to get back to his room.

Once the door was shut, Curt walked back into his own room with a grin on his face despite the harsh bruise already forming on his side.

“Are you alright?” Owen asked. He was standing- keeping as much weight off his injured leg as he could- leaning against the hallway wall and looking at him in concern.

“Perfect,” Curt said, pulling the new wallet from his pocket. Owen rolled his eyes but smiled as he started to limp back to his seat. Curt stepped closer and helped him sit down before sitting down next to him.

Curt pulled out his own wallet and started to dig through it, setting anything that linked back to him in one pile and anything that couldn’t in another. Once done with that, he went through Eduards’ wallet and emptied it. He put all of Eduards’ stuff into his old wallet- except for his credit card and half the cash in there- and added all of his stuff to Eduard's wallet. As he finished that, he glanced over to Owen and noticed he wasn’t eating yet. He put down the two wallets and turned to see Owen who was looking at the map.

Curt briefly wondered why he wasn’t eating yet when he remembered how last night Owen hadn’t started eating until he had taken the first bite. Thinking about it more, Owen hadn’t eaten those NIPS until he had started eating his pixy stix. And Owen had mentioned being starved a lot…

Curt did not enjoy the conclusion he came to and took a bite of his breakfast. He watched Owen from the corner of his eye and noticed that the second he’d taken his first bite, Owen started eating as well. He considered bringing it up but decided against it as Owen probably didn’t want to talk about it right now. Instead, his eyes flickered to the map and he leaned over a bit to get a better look.

“Anywhere you wanna go?” Curt asked instead.

“No where specific,” Owen said.

“Any specifications you want?” Curt asked.

“Somewhere far enough away it wouldn’t be an obvious location, but not too far we have to spend three or four days in a car,” Owen eventually said.

“Alright. And I’d like to say we should go West,” Curt said.

“Alright,” Owen said, nodding in agreement before offering an option. “Should we maybe go ‘I pick a town, you pick a town’? Then when we get to the next town, we pick the town after that?”

“That sounds fine. You wanna go first?” Curt asked. Owen shrugged and eyed the map for a moment.

“How about… Trybunalski,” Owen offered. Curt took a moment to locate the town Owen was referring to, and another to map out the road from where they were to the town.

“Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll stay here another night and head that way tomorrow, stay there a few days, and then move on,” Curt said. Owen listened to him as he chewed some of his omelet.

“Alright, where’ll we go after that?” Owen asked. Curt eyed the map for a moment, hovered his finger over the nearby area, closed his eyes, and randomly pointed down. When he opened his eyes again, he found his finger was covering Graz, Austria.

“How about there?” Curt offered. Owen was smiling a bit as he answered.

“That’s fine,” Owen said.

“Cool. I’m probably going to go out later, try to find you a crutch… maybe the stuff to make you a leg brace,” Curt said.

“A what?” Owen asked, turning to him.

“I don’t know what they’re actually called, but it’s something A.S.S. had been working on. You’re supposed to wear it after a leg injury and it’ll help you from straining your injury. Kind of like a cast but not as clunky. I kind of remember how to make one,” Curt explained.

“Okay,” Owen said, nodding slowly as he finished his breakfast and took a sip of his tea.

“Want me to grab anything for you while I’m gone? Certain clothing, specific types of food, a book you wanna read?” Curt asked.

“You know my preferences, I’m fine with whatever,” Owen said with a small shrug.

“You sure?” Curt asked him, taking a long sip of his black Russian as he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine here,” Owen said.

“Alright. I’ll be here for another hour before I leave. Hopefully, I’ll avoid running into Eduard again,” Curt said.

“Speaking of, are you alright? I heard a bit of rough-housing from the hallway,” Owen said.

“I’m fine, I think I’m just a little bruised,” Curt said. Owen nodded as he finished off his tea and Curt finished off his breakfast.

Curt and Owens’ hotel room, 12:17 pm

Owen watched the door shut behind Curt and sighed to himself. He was glad they had a plan now, but he still wished he could move around on his own. At the very least it would be nice if he could stand without too much pain.

Without Curt nearby, if anything happened Owen would be unable to escape or possibly even fight back. Helpless if an accident happened or if someone from one of the facilities showed up. Unable to do anything at all if someone forced their way in. Unable to protect himself if anyone came for him. The idea of something happening was nerve-wracking to Owen. He forced the panic away with a few deep breaths.

Owen looked around the living room-kitchen area, trying to find something to distract himself from the anxious thoughts, fidgeting with the bottom button of the shirt he’d changed into as he did so. There was the map still on the counter, the menus for room service, and a copy of the bible on the coffee table next to the couch. He wasn’t sure how long the map would distract him as he’d already spent a good bit of time looking at it, he didn’t want to spend time reading over a menu- that sounded like the bottom of the barrel to him and he wasn’t quite ready to lower himself to that standard yet-, and the bible was a hard pass for Owen for multiple reasons.

Owen racked his brain, trying to remember if anything interesting was in the bedroom him and Curt were using, but couldn’t think of anything other than their stuff. Then his attention turned to the other bedroom in the hotel room. He hadn’t been in there yet and figured that even if it was a plain white room, it would pass the time.

After another moment of internal debate Owen stood up, making sure to keep the majority of his weight off his injured leg and leaning partially on the wall, he limped his way towards the other bedroom. It took him a few moments to get there and another moment to get the door open.

This bedroom was much bigger than the bedroom him and Curt were using. There was a large bed against one of the walls and two nightstands. Aside from that, there wasn’t much. Owen limped around the room over to the bed and sat down next to one of the nightstands. He checked the drawers, nothing. He maneuvered around to the other side of the bed and checked those drawers and found a small pad of paper and a black pen. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t completely useless.

Owen stayed on the bed another minute before getting up and moving towards the door and back into the living room. He sat down on the couch with the notepad and pen in hand and his injured leg on the coffee table.

Owen was considering what to write down- or maybe draw- on the notepad when there was a knock on the door. It was a lot softer then the knocking from last night or this morning about the map and Owen paused for a moment, debating if he should open it.

“Hello?” A woman asked in Russian from the door as she knocked again. Despite the panic that was starting to form in his stomach, he responded.

“Just a moment,” Owen responded in Russian. He placed down the notepad and stood up, limping to the door. As he got to the hallway he was so busy trying to keep from putting to much weight on his injured leg, that he didn’t notice his shoes, which he’d left in the hallway, and nearly tripped over them, just barely managing to catch himself.

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” Owen muttered in English, taking a moment to fix his balance before keeping on his path to the door and eventually opening it.

“Yes?” Owen asked the woman at the door.

“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Anfisa Semenov. I’m a few doors down from you. I was looking for Alek Petrov?” She asked hopefully. Owen recognized her name as Curt had told him how he got the new card and the bruises along his back and side- not only did Curt have a bruise from the doorknob, but he had bruises along his shoulders and upper back from being slammed into a door.

“He left not too long ago to go pick up some things,” Owen said, not wanting her anywhere near Curt for multiple reasons.

“Is he alright? My husband said he wanted to talk to him and then I heard a loud thud,” Anfisa said.

“He’s alright,” Owen said bluntly.

“Oh thank god,” Anfisa said as Owen thought bitterly about how God had nothing to do with it. “I wasn’t sure and my husband kept saying it was nothing and I was worried.”

“Yes, well if there’s nothing else I can help you with I must be going,” Owen said, deciding he wanted this conversation to end.

“Oh, actually. Could you ask him to meet me in room 16-8 later tonight? I’d like to... apologize for the trouble,” She all but purred. Owen briefly wondered why she had a separate hotel room, but decided it didn’t matter, as he wouldn’t be telling Curt about this anyway.

“I’ll pass it on,” Owen lied. Anfisa smiled flirtishly and blinked up at him.

“Wonderful. Who knows, maybe you could join us,” she said, implying something Owen did not care about. Despite that, he forced an intrigued smirk on his face.

“Maybe,” Owen said. “Now, I really must be going. If you’ll excuse me,” Owen said, trying to close the door.

“Alright. Goodbye, Sir,” Anfisa said as Owen shut and locked the door. 

“Good  _ Lord _ , some people are so  _ needy _ ,” Owen muttered to himself in English, shaking his head as he limped back down the hall and towards the couch. Halfway to the couch, however, he froze as a thought struck him.

“Oh, Fuck. I’m jealous, aren’t I?” Owen muttered to himself, already very aware of the answer.


	7. Shopping and Pondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt gets back from his shopping and Owen thinks about a few curious habits of Curts' that he's picked up on.
> 
> TW: Reference to past alcoholism, reference to past homophobia, minor reference to sexual content  
> Next Update: Sunday, July 26th

Curt and Owen’s hotel room, 4:47 pm

Curt struggled with the door for a moment before getting it open, trying not to drop the bags he had. He kicked the door shut behind him and quickly made his way to the kitchen- stepping over the shoes that almost tripped him in the hallway- not relaxing until all the bags were safely on the counter and not at risk of falling.

“Welcome back,” Owen said from somewhere in the living room/kitchen area behind him.

“Hey, O,” Curt said as he turned to smile at the other man who was sitting on the couch with a small notepad and a pen in hand and his box of NIPS sitting unopened on the coffee table. He wasn’t sitting in the same place he’d been when Curt had left and based on the box of NIPS- which had been in their bedroom-, the opened door leading to the guest bedroom which had been shut when he left, and the fact Owens’ shoes were in a different place then they had been when he left, he’d done a lot of wandering.

That made sense to Curt. Owen hated being stuck indoors. Curt hated it too, but not as much as Owen did. In the few times a conjoined mission between them had gone south and they’d been stuck in a safe house Owen had been antsy and unable to sit still for too long. He was constantly checking the perimeter and looking around. Being stuck in one place for too long used to be anxiety-inducing for Owen. Now add in the fact that Owens’ leg was messed up and he could barely walk- a type of injury that Curt believed Owen had never had before- and Curt was surprised he wasn’t losing it.

The problem- however- was that by putting all this strain on his injury it would take him even longer to recover, and that was ignoring the fact that all of this movement could make his injury worse and keep him from healing properly. That’s why Curt had spent four and a half hours looking for things to help Owen gain better mobility without putting too much strain on his leg.

“What’re you up to?” Curt asked him.

“Trying to battle boredom,” Owen said with a shrug, moving his fingers so the pen was flicking back and forth in his hand. Curt briefly remembered a time when he had done that same thing once in Barbs’ lab during one of her presentations. It wasn’t until after the pen had gone flying that he realized it was an explosive he was supposed to use during his mission. Cynthia and Barb were both fucking pissed with him. He pushed the thought from his head to respond to Owen.

“Ahh. How’s that going for ya?” Curt asked. Owen scoffed and glared at a black book on the coffee table that Curt took a few seconds to recognize as a bible.

“I was starting to consider reading the copy of the bible they have here,” Owen said. Curt winced sympathetically.

“That sounds awful,” Curt said. Owen nodded as if silently saying ‘Duh’ and Curt couldn’t help but grin. “Luckily, I grabbed a few things so that shouldn’t happen again. You wanna see?” Curt offered, nodding to the bags he’d brought in. Owen thought for a moment and shoved the notepad and pen into one of his pants pockets.

“Sure,” he said as he started to try to stand up.

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about getting up, I’ll come over there,” Curt said quickly before Owen could stand up all the way. Owen sat back down heavily as Curt gathered up the six shopping bags in his arms and brought them over to the coffee table so he could show them off to Owen. He set them down on the coffee table and quickly looked through them to figure out which bag had what. Once he knew, the first thing he pulled out were the collapsible walking crutches he’d gotten for Owen.

“For you,” Curt said as he offered them to Owen. Owen looked surprised for a moment and set one to the side and examined the other crutch for a long moment before looking towards him.

“Thank you. Should we try these out?” Owen asked. Curt could tell he was trying to not make a big deal out of it, but he could see the gratitude in the British man’s eyes. Curt nodded as he stood up and moved the coffee table a bit out of the way before helping Owen stand and checking if the crutches were at the right height.

“Is that alright?” Curt asked as Owen took a few steps with the crutches. Owen was quiet a moment and Curt knew he was internally debating something. Before he could figure out what, Owen answered him.

“They’re a bit too tall,” Owen eventually said.

“Alright, here, let me see one of them,” Curt said, grabbing the crutch Owen offered him. He adjusted the height of the crutch so it was a bit shorter and offered it to Owen again. “How’s that?” he asked as Owen took a few steps.

“That’s better,” Owen said, sending a small, grateful, smile.

“Alright, let me fix the other one,” Curt said, taking the other crutch from Owen. He fixed the height on that one too and let Owen try it out. Once he’d taken a few steps, he smiled at Curt.

“That’s much better,” Owen said as he sat back down on the couch, setting down the crutches off to his side before turning and smiling at Curt. “Thank you, Love,”

“Of course,” Curt said, his face flushing a bit. A moment passed where Curt didn’t say anything- just stared at Owen- as his heartbeat a little faster. Owen looked away first with a cough- his face also a little red- and his eyes darted to the bags Curt had brought over.

“What else did you get?” Owen asked as Curt also looked away, trying to fight back the blush. He crumpled up the bag he’d pulled the crutches from- which he tossed on the floor- and he grabbed the next bag.

“These are just some things for the leg brace I’ll try to put together in a bit,” Curt said, allowing Owen to look into the bag and see the metal and padding and plastic he’d bought before setting it on the floor and grabbing the next bag.

“I got some clothes for you,” Curt said as Owen went through the bag, pulling out several plain shirts, similar to the ones Owen used to wear when they were together after missions, along with a few pairs of pants.

“I got some other clothes for you but it didn’t all fit in the bag so it’s mixed in with my clothes,” Curt said as Owen folded up the clothing and put it neatly back in the bag.

“Alright. What else have you got?” Owen asked as he set the bag off to the side.

“Well, I already told you about the other clothes,” Curt said as he set the other bag of clothes on the floor. He picked up another bag and offered it to Owen to go through. “While I was out, I found a second-hand bookshop that sold books in all different languages. Lucky, right? I found a few in English that I thought you’d like,” Curt explained, watching Owens’ face as he went through it. Owen grinned at the first four Sherlock Holmes novels, he gave an amused scoff at ‘A Wrinkle In Time’, chuckled at ‘The Spy Paramount’, and gave a wide smile at ‘Oliver Twist’ so Curt figured he did pretty good. The next book he pulled out of the bag had Curt sitting up a bit.

“Have you ever read that one?” Curt asked as Owen looked over the title.

“‘The Great Gatsby’? I can’t say I have,” Owen said, flipping the book around to read the back before looking at Curt. “Have you?”

“Yeah, actually. I picked it up on a mission when I was stalking someone out at a library. I didn’t expect to like it, but I did. I thought you might like it too,” Curt said.

“I’ll be sure to give it a read then,” Owen said with a thoughtful nod, looking back at the book and putting it on top of the stack of books he had been making before looking back at the bag the books had been in.

“There’s also an empty notebook and another book I thought you’d really like,” Curt said, fighting back a grin as Owen dug into the bag and pulled the last two books free. He set the notebook off to the side before looking at the last book.

“A dictionary? Really?” Owen asked as he looked over at Curt, his expression revealing he was amused but trying to hide it. Curt couldn’t help but start laughing as he heard Owen scoff and shake his head, a small smile on his face as he set the book aside, laughing a small bit as well. Curt eventually managed to stop laughing and he sent an apologetic smile to Owen.

“Sorry, O. Couldn’t help myself,” Curt said, a large smile still on his face.

“It’s quite alright, Love,” Owen said, also smiling before looking back at the stack of books and grabbing the notebook. 

“What did you get this for?” he asked him. Curt sobered up a bit, considered how best to explain it.

“Well, I was thinking, maybe…” Curt trailed off for a second, not sure how quite to put it. “You could write about your… issues and problems?” Curt offered. Owen stared at him without saying anything for a few seconds.

“...Like a diary?” Owen asked bluntly.

“No- well, technically? I mean...” Curt tried. Owen opened his mouth and Curt cut him off. “Wait, wait, wait. Before you cut me off I  _ know _ how it sounds but I figured you might want somewhere to talk about your stress if you don’t want to talk to me about it. I wouldn’t read it and it would just be yours,” Curt explained. He’d thought about it when he was out shopping. Owen looked down at the black notebook, up to Curt, and then back to the book.

“You’re serious?” Owen asked him.

“Yeah. I thought it would be helpful if you’re stressed about something and don’t want to talk to me about it, or something,” Curt said lamely, feeling awkward. Owen looked between him and the book again, seeming to weigh his options.

“Alright, I’ll try it out,” he said, sounding like he already regretted the decision.

“You don’t have to,” Curt said quickly. “I mean, it’s only if you want to.”

“I know,” Owen said before looking up at him again. “I’ll try it out if I need to,” he said. 

This time the following silence was more awkward until Curt turned back to the bags.

“I also got two wool blankets, a proper suitcase, and some general toiletries. Toothbrushes and toothpaste, razors and shaving cream, hairbrush and products, etcetera,” Curt explained as he passed over the bag for Owen to see. Owen nodded as he looked through it. There was silence for another minute as he did so.

“You think I could go shave?” Owen asked as he ran a hand over the stubble on his face.

“Yeah. You don’t want a beard?” Curt asked. Owen seemed to consider his answer

“I’ll just say that neither of us are beard men,” Owen said. Curt feigned offense, trying not to laugh.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad of a beard,” Curt said, trying to sound annoyed as a smile appeared on his face.

“I don’t even think you could call it a beard. I don’t even  _ know _ what that thing on your face was, but it wasn’t a beard,” Owen said as he pulled out one of the razors and the shaving cream.

“Oh, my pride,” Curt said sarcastically as he chuckled a bit before asking, “Do you need help getting to the bathroom?”

“I’d like to try with the crutches,” Owen said.

“Okay, I could at least carry your stuff for you,” Curt offered.

“Sure,” Owen said, handing the shaving things to Curt before grabbing the crutches and standing up. It seemed to be so much easier for him to walk with those and Curt was very glad he’d found them. Now he just needed to get that knee brace done.

Owen sat down on the closed toilet and leaned his crutches against the wall as Curt set down the razor and shaving cream on the counter for Owen.

“Would you like me to get you a chair?” Curt offered.

“If you don’t mind,” Owen said, not meeting Curts eyes.

“Of course I don’t mind,” Curt said, moving to drag in one of the island chairs so Owen could sit in front of the mirror.

“Thank you,” Owen said as he carefully got himself into the seat.

“Of course,” Curt said, taking a few steps back, “I’m going to order a late lunch, do you want anything?”

“I’m fine with whatever,” Owen said.

“Chicken sandwiches it is,” Curt said.

“Doesn’t sound bad,” Owen said with a smile.

Curt and Owens’ hotel room, 3:25 pm

Owen was sitting on the couch, freshly shaven and belly full, watching Curt try to make the knee brace thing for him. He’d started just after lunch had arrived and he seemed to be making progress. That progress being correct was something Owen could neither confirm nor deny.

Admittedly, this wasn’t what Owen was focusing on. He was focusing on the bottle Curt had ordered with his lunch. Curt had ordered a bottle last night and had a good third of it before going to bed. This morning Curt had had a Black Russian and another fourth of that bottle. He’d taken it with him when he went out and now it was empty, requiring him to get another bottle. That seemed… excessive, to say the least.

Thinking about it, the last time Curt had had this much alcohol so often was… No. No, Curt couldn’t be doing that again.

When Owen had first met Curt, he was as close to an alcoholic as someone who wasn’t an alcoholic could be. He would be hungover during the early missions Owen had worked with him and would use any excuse he could to ‘self medicate’. It wasn’t until they started dating that Curt admitted he’d started drinking to “deal with” the homophobic comments his mom would make about people because he knew his mom wouldn’t accept him as he was. Owen had helped him stop drinking the first time.

Had he started drinking again? And if so, why hadn’t Cynthia got onto him about it? When he’d first tried getting Curt to stop drinking, Cynthia had helped him out and stayed on Curts’ ass so he wouldn’t fall back off the wagon while Owen was gone. And, According to Chimera, Curt hadn’t stopped working after his accident, so why would Cynthia let him fall off the wagon? Curt seemed to realize Owen was thinking about something and spoke up.

“Are you alright there, Old Boy? I can practically hear you thinking,” Curt said, looking away from the mass of plastic and fabric he was trying to turn into a knee brace to look at him.

“I’m fine, Love,” Owen said, trying to decide how and if he should bring this up. What if he was looking way into this and making a mountain out of a molehill? What if he was blowing everything way out of proportion? part of his brain said that was irrational, but another part said it was still possible.

“Are you sure?” Curt asked. Owen decided that he would try to gather more evidence before he brought it to light. Maybe he would also look into if he needed to stop calling Curt love- an anxiety he’d been having a lot lately. However instead of bringing up his concern about Curts’ drinking habits- and if he was going too fast-, he brought up his earlier visitor.

“A Mrs. Anfisa was at the door shortly after you left. She was looking for you,” Owen told him.

“You’re kidding,” Curt said. Owen shook his head.

“I wish. She wanted to make sure you were ‘okay’,” Owen said, doing air quotes around the word okay.

“Is that all?” Curt asked.

“No, actually, she invited you up to her  _ second _ hotel room,” Owen said.

“Noooo,” Curt whined.

“Yes, she tried to invite me up to join you both. I think she wanted a three-way,” Owen said. Curt groaned and Owen couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What, you wouldn’t want me to join you?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine with you. But her? Hard pass,” Curt said. Owen chuckled again. “So how’d you deal with that?”

“I kept trying to indicate I needed to leave until she caught the hint,” Owen told him. He paused for a moment, knowing this next comment was somewhat pointless, but knowing Curt would figure out something was wrong anyways.“You’re not going to go there, are you?” 

“Aww, you’re not jealous, are you?” Curt asked with a laugh, his tone somewhat teasing.

“Jealous? Sod off, I’m not jealous,” Owen lied, as he had come to the decision he indeed was jealous earlier.

“Are you sure?” Curt asked, a cocky grin forming on his face. Owen kept his expression neutral, not wanting to let Curt know he was right. It would go straight to his ego.

“Positive, Love,” Owen said coolly. Curts’ grin widened as he responded.

“Sure, babe,” Curt said. Owen scoffed and looked away, but he could feel his lips starting to turn up into a smile against his will.

“You’re insufferable,” Owen said as Curt started laughing. He threw an arm over Owens’ shoulder- who tensed up a bit before relaxing- and pulled him closer.

“ _ You’re  _ jealous,” Curt said. Owen smiled freely now, blushing and leaning into Curts’ side a bit.

“...Maybe a little,” Owen reluctantly agreed.

“I  _ knew _ it!” Curt cheered.

“I take it back, I take it back. I’m not jealous,” Owen said, leaning away a bit.

“Too late, you already admitted it,” Curt said with a laugh.

“Damn it,” Owen muttered, but he was smiling hard and- for the moment- he was truly happy and not stressed or worried or panicked.


	8. Pack up and Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt and Owen are back on the move and leaving the hotel behind.
> 
> TW: Minor panic attack, mention of injuries
> 
> Next Update: Thursday, July 30th.

Curt and Owens’ hotel room, 9:45 am, the next morning

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” Owen asked from where he was sitting on his bed, dressed for the day, his hair brushed- but he didn’t have his usual products so it was just tucked behind his ears- and his crutches next to him. Curt was running around the hotel room, trying to make sure he had packed everything and not allowing Owen to help him. Unfortunately, he’d gotten a  _ little _ too drunk the night before and couldn’t  _ quite  _ remember where he’d placed everything. He wasn’t going to tell Owen that, meaning he was stuck running around while Owen- who probably had already figured out his issue, to be honest- watched him with a smug grin on his face and amusement in his eyes.

“I was  _ pretty  _ sure, but that grin on your face makes me think I’m forgetting something,” Curt said, as he turned to look at the other man. Owen just grinned wider.

“Oh, Love, don’t worry about me and whatever I may be doing. Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he said. Curt rolled his eyes at him and Owen tutted. “Making faces at me isn’t going to help you find whatever you may be missing.”

“Smug bastard,” Curt said loud enough for Owen to hear as he turned away, trying to pour just an ounce of annoyance into his tone, which was admittedly rather hard to do as wasn’t all that irritated.

“Love you too, dear,” Owen said with a chuckle. Curt smiled a small bit as he knelt down next to his bed to look underneath and see if anything was under there. He pulled out his left shoe and Owen let out a snort of laughter.

“Why is my shoe even under here?” Curt asked as he got up.

“Beats me, Love,” Owen said with a grin.

“Is this what you were talking about?” Curt asked Owen, holding up the shoe a bit.

“Honestly, no. I was talking about the hairbrush you dropped between your bed and the nightstand last night before we went to sleep,” Owen told him. Curt groaned and dropped the shoe, getting back down to find the hairbrush Owen was talking about. 

Curt did end up finding it and tossed it into the open suitcase on his bed as he got up off the floor again. As he was getting up, there was a harsh knock at the door to their hotel room. Curt looked to Owen first and saw he was tensed up, but not as panicked as he had been when they ordered dinner a few days prior.

“It’s fine, Owen. Probably just the breakfast I ordered,” Curt reassured him. Owen just nodded before flinching as there was another knock at the door, followed by a yell of ‘Room Service’ in Russian. Curt rushed to open the door and smiled at the concierge or whatever who had his breakfast.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said in Russain. “We’re trying to pack everything.”

“It’s quite alright, Sir. Here is your breakfast,” he said, offering the tray to Curt. Curt accepted it and nodded his thanks.

“Thank you, have a good day,” Curt said as the man nodded and walked away and Curt stepped back into his hotel and kicked the door shut. The door made a loud thud as he shut it, but he didn’t worry about that as he quickly set down the food at the island and went to check on Owen.

Owen was sitting on his bed the same he had been when Curt had left, his shoulder hunched the slightest bit as he was curling in on himself in a not so obvious way that Curt wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t know him so well. He was staring down at the floor with his eyes a little wider than normal and his breathing just a little heavy for someone who had been sitting in a bed all morning. He was also tense and his hands were subtly shaking from where he was pressing them into his lap. 

Anyone who didn’t know Owen wouldn’t have picked up on these things and would have assumed he was fine. Curt, however, wasn’t  _ anyone _ and he  _ knew  _ Owen.

“Owen? Are you alright?” Curt asked as he sat down on the bed to Owens’ left. Owen nodded yes quickly but he clearly wasn’t. Curt wasn’t quite sure what to do to help him. Whenever Curt touched him when he was like this- a hand on his knee or his shoulder- it only seemed to make it worse. It was the same with loud or sudden noises.

“How can I help?” Curt asked softly.

“I’m- I’m fine, L-” Owen said, stuttering a bit and cutting himself off before he could say his nickname. Curt was confused- and the slightest bit hurt- but he filed that away for later and focused on helping Owen.

“You’re not fine, O. I know this, and I want to help you. How can I help you?” Curt asked him, trying to convince Owen he was serious and truly wanted to do this for him. Owen was silent for a long moment before finally answering him.

“I- I suppose I could- I could use a hug,” Owen mumbled, his head bowing down a bit more. Curt blinked once in surprise. He’d expected Owen to say he just wanted some quiet or a few moments alone- as when they’d been dating before the incident, Owen would always try to deal with whatever was stressing him out or upsetting him on his own until Curt convinced him to accept his help- not ask for a hug, which Curt would  _ Happily  _ give.

“Of course,” Curt said, opening his arms for a hug. The shaking in Owens’ hand seemed to have spread to the rest of his body as he fell into the hug and buried his face in Curts’ shoulder and neck and his hands gripped onto the front of Curts’ shirt. Curt tried to keep from squirming or giggling as Owens’ hair tickled his neck slightly and he instead tried to focus on wrapping his arms around Owen- keeping his grip loose so he didn’t feel trapped.

“‘M sorry,” Owen muttered, still shaking a bit.

“It’s fine, O,” Curt tried to reassure him

“It’s pathetic,” Owen argued, not moving his head from where it was against Curts’ neck.

“It’s human,” Curt insisted. Owen didn’t say anything and they stayed like that until some point after his shaking receded.

At some point, Owen lifted up his head and Curt couldn’t help the breathless laugh that came as his hair tickled his neck again. Owen looked confused for a moment before it seemed to click and he released one of his hands from Curts’ jacket to try and smooth his hair back a bit.

“Sorry about that,” Owen mumbled, looking at Curts’ face, but just barely avoiding eye contact with him. Curt wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for his freak-out or for accidentally tickling him, but Curt decided he didn’t care, as Owen had nothing to apologize for.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Curt told him.

“I shouldn’t be acting like this because I get startled by a noise,” Owen said bitterly.

“You have every right to be getting startled. You’ve been through a lot,” Curt said, trying to ignore the guilt he felt, as this was all his fault. He wouldn’t be bringing that up as this was not the time. Owen was quiet for a long moment before finally looking him in the eyes.

“Thank you, Love,” Owen said. He seemed to be examining Curts’ face for something as he spoke, but Curt pushed that thought away as he smiled kindly at him.

“Of course, Owen. It’s the least I can do for the man I love,” Curt said, allowing Owen to hear the sincerity in his voice. Whatever Owen was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it- or maybe he did, Curt wasn’t sure- and he smiled.

“Let’s go eat our breakfast, I’m hungry,” Owen said, letting go of Curts’ shirt with his other hand as he said this.

“Yes, lets,” Curt said as he moved to stand up. He waited until Owen was standing with his crutches under his arm, and walked alongside Owen to the kitchen.

They sat down at the island and Curt dug into his breakfast- French Toast- with Owen following shortly after with his pancakes. They ate quickly with Owen listing off things they needed so Curt could be sure he had everything. Once they were done eating Curt did one last run around to be sure they had everything before picking up their bags- the suitcase had mostly everything, but they’d needed a second bag for the food and other miscellaneous items they were bringing- and they were off. 

“Hey, maybe we can play up the whole ‘I’m injured’ act. Just for the heck of it,” Owen offered.

“Well, You are a pretty good actor,” Curt complimented as they started down the hallway to the elevator.

“Flattery will get you places. Especially with me,” Owen said smoothly, a grin on his face. Curt laughed at that.

“You can go wait in the car while I check us out,” Curt offered as they waited for the elevator.

“Nonsense. I’ll be fine waiting with you,” Owen said as they heard a door open from somewhere behind them. Owen looked back at where the noise had come from before looking at him again. Curt figured that if Owen wasn’t tensing up or acting nervous, it was fine.

“Are you sure?” Curt asked, his eyes flickering down to where Owens’ injury was hidden by his pants as the elevator door opened.

“Positive,” Owen said as he started into the elevator. Curt followed after him as he was suddenly aware of someone behind him. He looked back to see Anfisa and Eduard Petrov- who also had bags with them- along with three kids, a teenage boy, a toddler boy, and a girl who seemed to be between the other two childrens’ ages. ‘ _ Great _ ’ Curt thought as he stepped closer to Owen so they could all fit in the elevator. The kids immediately stepped into the elevator followed by Anfisa and then- reluctantly- Eduard.

“Would someone mind hitting the button for the lobby?” Owen asked in Russian, clearly leaning a lot more of his weight on his crutches and non-injured leg. The little girl looked at her dad before hitting the button with a grin. “Thank you,” Owen said as Curt noticed Eduard looking over Owen briefly.

“What happened to your leg?” Eduard asked him as the elevator started down.

“Car crash,” Owen answered with a nod.

“Only your leg was injured?” Eduard asked.

“I was  _ very _ lucky to not be in the front. The two who were, well...” Owen lied, trailing off to allow their imaginations to fill in the gaps of this fictional story. Eduard nodded as Curt glanced at Anfisa to see she was staring at him with a bit of irritation in her eyes. Curt quickly looked away, turning his gaze to Owen, who was watching what was happening with a small grin on his face. It was amused and a little smug, but quickly turned relaxed as Eduard turned to look at him again. Curt adjusted his grip on the bags as the elevator door opened. 

Eduard led his family out of the elevator and towards the shortest line leading to the front desk. Curt ignored the glare Eduard sent him and walked alongside Owen who seemed to be laying on the ‘injured or possibly disabled, you strangers don’t know which,’ act a little thick and Curt fought back the urge to grin. Curt also played it up, saying in Russian that he could go wait in the car, that he would help him find a seat, that he should sit down, with Owen also saying that he would be fine, that he didn’t need to sit down. They got in the same queue as the Eduards because it was the shortest line and he was  _ clearly  _ injured. 

Anfisa kept looking back at them both as the line moved slowly while Curt and Owen played their part wonderfully until it was Eduards’ turn at the front of the line. He dug through his pocket for a moment before muttering an ‘Oh, fuck,’. Anfisa turned to him and he told her he must have left his wallet in their room. They talked with the desk person for a minute until the family stepped to the side with their things. Eduard and his oldest son headed back to the elevator as Anfisa waited with the other two children. Curt and Owen shared a slight grin before they also stepped up.

Curt paid for their room, room service, and everything else they’d gotten at the hotel- a process which took several minutes- until they were done and Curt and Owen were finally walking back to their car. They got outside and Owen paused for a moment, enjoying the sunshine.

“I am  _ not _ going to be staying inside for multiple days at a time again,” Owen told him in English. Curt smiled and nodded.

“Done. Do you mind if I throw these in the back before you can sit down?” Curt asked, raising the bags briefly to indicate them. Owen limped towards the car and leaned against the side.

“Take your time,” Owen told him as he basked in the sunlight. Curt smiled and was quick to pull back the seat and toss the bags into the back before fixing the seat again. He helped Owen sit down and fold up his crutches before going to close the door, only to bend down and  _ pretend  _ to find a wallet.

“I’m going to run this inside, I’ll be right back,” Curt said. Owen nodded and Curt jogged inside and hopped back into the line- which moved much faster while Anfisa and her kids were still waiting- and pretty soon was back at the front.

“Hi, I found this wallet outside and I wasn’t sure what to do with it,” Curt said in Russian, holding up his old wallet with all of the things he had decided to let Eduard keep.

“Oh, I’ll take that. Thank you, sir,” the lady said as he handed it to her.

“Of course, have a good day, ma’am,” Curt said before turning to leave right as he saw Eduard step out of the elevator, looking irritated. Perfect timing in Curts’ mind. Curt got back outside and hopped back into the car with a laugh.

“Guess who just got back to the lobby,” Curt said as he grabbed the car keys from Owen.

“You’re kidding,” Owen said. Curt turned to look at him with a grin.

“Dead serious,” Curt said. Owen laughed and slouched in his chair a bit as Curt started up the car.

“Bloody idiot,” Owen muttered. “How did he not notice he was missing his wallet for a full day?” he asked a bit louder.

“It’s like you said. He’s a bloody idiot,” Curt said as he started driving. Owen chuckled again and looked back at the hotel.

They drove for a bit until Curt came across an old car lot where they could trade out cars for one of an equal value. They had planned the night before to swap out cars so it would be harder for anyone to track them and Curt had called the owner the night before.

It was about half an hour later when they finally got the keys for an old red Volga, were able to put all their stuff into the back of their ‘new’ car, and were driving off.

“That took way too long,” Owen said as the car lot vanished behind them.

“Tell me about it. Luckily, we’re on our way and won’t be going back any time soon,” Curt said as he grinned at Owen. Owen returned the smile before looking behind them.

“Are you alright, Wen?” Curt asked. Owen looked at him a little surprised but trying not to appear so.

“Wen? You still remember that nickname?” Owen asked.

“Are you kidding? Of course I do. That’s the first nickname I gave you and one of the few I could call you in public. I don’t think I could ever forget that name,” Curt told him, his eyes constantly flicking between Owen and the road. Owen smiled softly at him before looking behind them again.

“Really, are you alright?” Curt asked him.

“I’m fine. Just making sure we’re not being followed,” Owen told him. Curts’ eyes flickered to the mirror before back to him.

“I think we’re fine, O. This is a pretty straight road and I think we’ll see anyone coming,” Curt said.

“I know, just being careful,” Owen said. Curt nodded, understanding why he was nervous.


	9. Lots of Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt and Owen take a moment to talk after driving for twelve hours straight, while Cynthia talks about what happened with Barbara and Tatiana.  
> Bit of a shorter chapter today, but that's only because I'm going to be starting a third big project tomorrow. Which will be going up around noon EST.  
> TW: slight reference to past torture, reference to blood, reference to past anxiety  
> Next Update: Wednesday, August 5th

Curt and Owen’s car #2, 11:45 pm

Owen tried to bite back a yawn as he looked out the window, seeing mostly black and grey shapes as there was no light to illuminate the outside world aside from their car lights. They had been driving for roughly twelve and a half hours thanks to them taking longer, random roads to make a harder trail to follow and Owen was starting to feel drained. He didn’t want to fall asleep yet since Curt had to drive the whole time and that didn’t seem fair to him, so here he was. Trying to watch the outside world pass by in the darkness. Owen heard Curt yawn next to him and turned to look at him.

“How’re ya doing, Wen?” Curt asked him.

“I’m doing good, you?” Owen asked.

“I’m tired. You don’t mind sleeping in the car tonight, do you?” Curt asked him. Owen briefly flashed back to some of the shitty sleeping conditions he’d had over the years- his mind quickly flicking back to Chimera- and he answered before he could get stuck in the past.

“No, not at all,” Owen said quickly.

“Okay, I think I might find somewhere to park soon. I’m really tired,” Curt said.

“That’s fine,” Owen said, looking back out the windows.

About ten minutes later Curt pulled into a patch of trees where their car wouldn’t easily be seen. He dug through the suitcase on the floor of the back seats and pulled out the two blankets he’d bought.

“How do you want to do this?” Curt asked him. Owen frowned slightly, not quite sure how to continue.

“I’m… not sure,” Owen admitted. Curt looked around the car for a moment before perking up a bit.

“Actually, this is unrelated, but I wanted to ask you something,” Curt said. Owen didn’t say anything, but gave him a look that said ‘continue’. Curt looked awkward before starting.

“Alright, so this is kind of dumb, but earlier this morning after you’d… panicked, you seemed hesitant to call me ‘Love’? Is there a reason? You don’t have to tell me, I just- Nevermind, it’s dumb,” Curt rambled. Owen blinked once before answering.

“No, it’s fine. I just…” Owen trailed off, trying to think of how best to explain.

“It’s been four years since we were last together properly. I figured it was foolish of me to expect everything to go back to exactly the way it was and I half thought I was pushing my luck,” Owen admitted. It sounded stupid aloud, he thought, but it was how he felt.

“Really?” Curt asked. Owen knew Curt wasn’t trying to mock him, but it sounded like he was. Curt seemed to realize this too and was quick to keep talking.

“Owen, I promise you if anything was pushing our relationship- which it isn’t- your nicknames are not it,” Curt said, sending him a sincere smile. Owen quickly searched his face for anything off, trying to make sure there wasn’t some deeper plot at hand. He didn’t find anything- ever since they’d reunited the only time he had found something was on that stairway- and returned the smile before looking towards the back seat.

“Do you think we could both fit in the back?” Owen asked him. Curt looked at the back seat and then back at him.

“Probably,” Curt said with a smile.

Somewhere In a Hotel In New Jersey, 4:50 pm

“Hold up, Hold up. Something isn’t adding up to me. Go over that again,” Cynthia said. She’d already heard Tatiana and Barbaras’ retelling of what happened three times, but it didn’t make sense to her.

“Again? Really?” Tatiana asked her, looking irritated.

“Yes, again. Now come on, we don’t have all day,” Cynthia said as she flicked some of the ash from her cigarette onto the floor of the shitty motel room. She hadn’t wanted to bring Barbara and Tatiana to A.S.S. so here they were in a shitty motel on the other side of the city. Tatiana looked over at Barbara- who was sitting on one of the beds, staring out the window- before she sighed and started to talk.

“Curt and myself snuck into the capital as the Informant got into disguise as the royal notalizer. The Informant came in and Von Nazi started singing about how the Nazi’s aren’t so bad,” Tatiana started.

“Ugh,” Cynthia muttered.

“The Prime Minister signed a deed for a ‘Nazi Super Castle’ and then the Deadliest Man realized we were there,” Tatiana said.

“Alright,” Cynthia said with a nod.

“We came out and Von Nazi started yelling about letting the minister get away, and the Deadliest man stabbed him to death,” Tatiana said.

“Well, that’s one fucker dead,” Cynthia muttered.

“And then he pulled off a mask-” Tatiana tried.

“Owen is such a traitor!” Barbara yelled suddenly. She looked miserable- Not that Cynthia could blame her- and the sudden outbreak was out of character.

“Yeah, I know. And once we catch him I'm going to fucking kill him. But for now, we need to find him. Tatiana, continue,” Cynthia said.

“He revealed himself to be Owen and that he was working for a group called Chimera,” Tatiana said.

“What a stupid name,” Cynthia said.

“Agreed. Anyway, he revealed they were trying to create a computerized system to reveal the secrets of everyone in the world. The deed was so they could mine silicon from Prussian land. Shortly after that he shot the informant and took off with Curt chasing after him,” Tatiana summed up.

“Alright,” Cynthia said. “And then after that?”

“Barbara tried to call him but he didn’t answer so she followed the tracker in his watch to a weapons facility. The only thing I found there was his broken watch, some blood, and a bullet buried in one of the steps,” Tatiana said.

“No body?” Cynthia asked.

“Not that I found, no,” Tatiana said. Cynthia pondered it for a long moment. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Cynthia eventually said.

“Seems pretty cut and dry to me,” Barbara said.

“Yeah. Owen killed Curt and cleaned up the evidence, pretty cut and dry,” Tatiana said.

“No. They were trying to send a message by telling us about Chimera. However, why wouldn’t they leave Curts’ body to do the same? I mean, what kind of message would the body of one of the best damn spies in the world send? A pretty fucking powerful one, that’s for sure,” Cynthia said.

“What are you saying?” Barbara asked.

“I’m not sure. When I get back to the A.S.S. I’m going to go over a few of my old mission files. Something is right here.”


	10. Car Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt and Owen talk for a bit before they have to get back on the road and Owen reflects on some things.
> 
> TW: mentions of past torture
> 
> Next Update: Tuesday, August 11th

Car #2, 10:38 am the next day.

Curt blinked blearily a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dim light coming in the windows before just shutting his eyes again and taking a deep breath. It was only then that he realized there was something on his chest. He opened his eyes again and realized it was not  _ something _ but  _ someone _ . Namely, Owen Carvour.

Owen was lying partially on top of Curt with his legs dangling off the seat, his head resting on Curts’ shoulder and his arms wrapped around Curts' torso. He was breathing deeply and his eyes were shut. One of the blankets he’d bought was thrown over them both, and the other one was folded under Curts’ head like a pillow. Curt blushed the slightest bit and adjusted his grip on Owen as he realized his arms were also around Owen, wrapped loosely around his shoulders.

Curt smiled at the sight before glancing out the car windows, realizing it was surprisingly dark outside. He went to check his watch, only to remember he’d destroyed his watch and hadn’t gotten a new one- he’d considered getting a new one off the guy he’d stolen his first credit from, and then considered getting one when they’d gotten the hotel, but once Owen told him what Chimera had done to him through his watch, he’d decided against it. Maybe he would get a pocket watch. He would have to talk to Owen about that- and he dropped his wrist back down until his arms were wrapped around Owen like before.

Curt was looking out the window again when Owen murmured something in his sleep and shifted so his face was hidden in Curts’ shoulder, allowing Curt to see that part of Owens’ hair was sticking to the side of his face and another part was in a cowlick. Curt chuckled slightly at the sight, which got Owen to hum out something that reverberated against his neck and sounded sort of like ‘what’.

“Did you say something, Owen?” Curt asked softly. 

Curt had been rather surprised to realize Owen was not anything close to a morning person. Sure he could respond quickly to emergencies after first waking, but that was more of an alarmed reaction thing. On average days where they didn’t need to be out quickly for missions or had to be up for missions but not until later in the day, Owen would be slow waking up and would spend at least half an hour complaining about having to be awake without getting up.

“Wha’s so funny?” Owen muttered a little louder as he lifted his head up a bit so Curt could hear him before dropping his head down into Curts’ shoulder again. Curt chuckled softly before answering.

“Nothing, O,” Curt said softly.

“If it was nothing you woul’n’t ‘ave been laughing,” Owen muttered loud enough for Curt to hear.

“You just look lovely this morning, that’s all,” Curt said with a grin. Owen muttered something else in response, but Curt couldn’t make out what it was as thunder roared overhead.

“That explains why it's so dark,” Curt said aloud, his eyes flickering to the windshield. Which allowed him to see when rain first started to come down. Owen groaned and opened his eyes to look out the windows.

“Bloody rain waking me up,” Owen muttered, making Curt laugh.

“Are you alright there, Wen?” Curt asked with a smile.

“I hate mornings,” Owen muttered, making Curt laugh again.

“Is there a reason for that?” Curt asked after a moment.

“Do you know how easy it is to be caught off guard when you’ve first woken up? You’re all… disoriented an’... an’ shit,” Owen muttered.

“I’m pretty sure that’s just you,” Curt said, quickly continuing before Owen could come up with any kind of response. “However, there’s also bonuses to waking up early. Such as me seeing you so peaceful,” Curt said, running his hand up and down Owens’ arm briefly as Owen stared at him.

“Sap,” Was all Owen said as Curt laughed again. Thunder roared and lightning flashed as Owen dropped his face onto Curts’ shoulder again. 

They both went quiet after that, listening to the rain hitting the car and the wind which had started whistling outside and each other breathing until Owen spoke up, breaking the silence.

“I missed this,” Owen murmured.

“Missed what?” Curt asked him.

“This. The downtime we would have where it’s just you and me without a care in the world, listening to the sounds around us and just… being together,” Owen admitted.

“Even when it’s the ‘bloody rain’?” Curt asked, putting on a painfully bad sounding accent for the last bit.

“Curt,” Owen said, lifting up his head again and giving him an unamused look. 

“Yes?” Curt said with a grin.

“Dear, The Love of My Life, The Light of my World. I’ve heard your English accents before, but in the four years I’ve been gone it’s gone from somewhat bad to _atrocious_ ,” Owen told him in a deadpanned way. Curt laughed again.

“It’s not that bad,” Curt argued jokingly.

“Oh, It’s bad, love. It’s almost as bad as that…  _ monstrosity _ of a beard you had,” Owen said, his tone serious but Curt could see in Owens’ eyes that he was joking.

“It wasn’t that bad!” Curt said with a shake of his head.

“It was  _ horrible _ , Love,” Owen said.

“ _ You’re _ horrible,” Curt muttered under his breath as he put a false pout on his face, making Owen shake his head with a scoff.

“Your insults have gone downhill too if I’m being honest,” Owen joked.

“What is this, ‘Put down Curt day’?” Curt asked, also joking.

“I’m just saying, Love. ‘Typical Jerk’?” Owen asked.

“So it is Put Down Curt Day, good to know I missed the memo,” Curt said.

“You know I’m just pulling your leg, Love,” Owen said.

“So you  _ don’t _ think my beard was bad,” Curt said, fighting back a grin as Owen went quiet for at least five seconds before he said anything.

“Just how hard is it raining outside, do you think?” Owen asked as he moved to sit up. Curt laughed loudly as he let him sit up before moving to sit up himself. 

“I slept pretty well, how about you?” Curt asked as he realized how rested he was.

“I slept pretty well for the backseat of a car, but that might be because anything was better then…” Owen trailed off for a moment as he looked out the window. Curt didn’t need Owen to clarify what he was referring to. “Well, you know what I mean,” Owen said before looking back at him.

“It also probably helped that I slept partially on top of you,” Owen said.

“Well then I’m flattered to be your mattress,” Curt joked with a smile. Owen smiled at that before snickering at something else.

“What’s so funny?” Curt asked him.

“Your hair just looks… wonderful, Love,” Owen told him.

“What do you…” Curt started to ask as he moved to look in the rear-view mirror, where he saw his hair was also basically standing up on its own. “Jesus Christ,” Curt said as Owen snorted.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at since your hair looks just as bad as mine does,” Curt told him. Owen moved to look in the mirror as well before groaning as Curt chuckled.

“How did this even happen?” Owen asked as he started trying to finger-comb his hair.

“No clue, I was asleep,” Curt said before he started digging through the bags they had. After a moment he pulled out the hairbrush he’d bought and held it out to Owen. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Owen said as he started brushing out his hair.

“Of course,” Curt said as he started digging through the food bag they’d brought with them, eventually finding a few apples he’d brought. 

“Want an apple?” Curt asked, offering one of the fruits to him. Owen eyed it for a moment before nodding.

“Sure,” he said, accepting the apple but deciding to finish brushing his hair first. Curt couldn’t blame him for that- even if he looked kind of cute with his hair like that- and bit into his apple as he looked out the window at the rain coming down harshly. 

He had a vague idea of where they were, based on memories of the path he’d drawn up on the map, but he would probably give it another look over before he started driving again. Speaking of driving, driving in this rain would be… fun, to say the least. The rain was coming down in buckets now and if Curt were to get out to get to the front seat he would be thoroughly soaked through. He figured he would just do the awkward car-climb around, but he wasn’t sure how to get Owen to the front without either straining his injury or getting them both soaked.

“Hey, O, are you fine sitting in the back while I drive? I don’t know how to get you to the front without it being an issue for us both,” Curt told him.

“Yes, that's fine,” Owen said as he finished brushing out his hair. He offered the hairbrush to Curt as he took a bite of his own apple.

“Thank you,” Curt said as he started brushing out his own hair.

Car #2, 12:09 pm, same day

Owen shifted in the back seat as he looked out the car window to his left. Curt was focused on the road so as not to hit anything in this terrible rain. The radio was quietly playing some song Owen didn’t recognize, which was blending nicely with the quiet rumble of the car's engine and the rain pattering against the car.

It was dark and grey outside, reminding Owen a bit of when he lived in London. Sure there was nice weather there too, but this just hit closer to home. He hadn’t been there since- as Curt called it- The Russian Affair and he missed it. Sure he’d been born in Wales, but he’d moved to London around the age of two and had lived there basically his whole life. And he’d loved it.

He would love to go back there someday, but he doubted that would ever happen. It wouldn’t be safe. For one thing, they were both famous in the spy community, their faces were already pretty well known. And now that A.S.S. knew that Owen had been alive that whole time and since they probably assumed he’d killed Curt, they would be looking for him and he'd probably be even more well known. It was just a bad idea in general. If they ever went to America- which they probably would- they would have to be careful about where they went, but it would be easier to deal with.

Thunder roared overhead and Owen glanced over at Curt who was still focused on the road. Admittedly, he hadn’t expected this of Curt when they first started driving. Four years ago Curt would have been talking loudly, making jokes, and just messing around in general. Driving Dangerously had just been one of the many thrills Curt went after in his day to day life. So to see him being so careful was different.

A lot of things had changed with Curt, but that was to be expected. A lot can change in four years. After all, four years had changed Owen from a brave spy, loyal to his country without fault and one of the best spies in all of Europe, into a traitor of his country who doesn’t trust any organization anymore, and a coward.

If anything, he wasn’t sure how Curt could just accept him back with open arms. He was nothing like he had been back before. He was different now. He wasn’t the spy Curt had fallen in love with anymore.

Sure Curt was different too, but it wasn’t in the same way. He was still a hero to those organizations. He could still take an interrogation like it was nothing, he was still succeeding in missions, was still a great shot. He was still one of the best spies Owen had ever met. He was also still the same kind and trusting man Owen had known behind closed doors. He was still the same man Owen had fallen in love with so long ago.

Curt hadn’t turned his back on everything he believed him because he was in pain. He hadn’t given up faith in his organization. He hadn’t been…

Owen rubbed at his wrist, trying to ignore that train of thought. There was no point in thinking about that now. Curt had promised him he wasn’t going back. And even if that was a lie… Well, it gave him hope. And hope was one hell of a feeling. One he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated.


	11. To Much To Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two and a half weeks since the Second Russian Affair, and there's something important on Owens' mind.
> 
> TW: Mentions of past alcoholism, slight mentions of past torture
> 
> Next Update: Monday, August 17th

A Hotel in Essen, Germany, 12 days later, 11:52 am

Owen was sitting on the couch of their newest hotel room, towel in hand, crutches folded up and leaning against the couch, and waiting for Curt to get back from the car with their bags. Owen had gone up to their room while Curt got their stuff because it was raining cats and dogs outside and Curt didn’t want them both to be soaking wet- not that that mattered to Owen since they’d been in the car for two days and would both be showering soon anyway- but he could at least have a towel ready for when Curt got back.

Owen had already toweled himself off- because despite how he’d only been outside for less than two minutes- he’d been thoroughly soaked by the rain outside and having water physically drip off of you just wasn’t pleasant.

The door opened and in stepped Curt, his hair plastered to his face and slicked by rain, his clothes dripping from the rain, but their bags- which Curt was holding in either hand- were surprisingly dry.

“Why the fuck is the parking lot so far away from the entrance?” Curt asked as he dropped the bags on the ground.

“No clue, Love,” Owen said as he tossed the towel to Curt, who caught it and sent him a grateful smile.

“Thanks, O,” Curt said as he started trying to dry off.

“Of course,” Owen said as he considered bringing up how it was actually a car park, but decided against it as Curt came and sat down on the couch next to him, still very wet.

“Um Curt, Love, you’re drenched,” Owen pointed out.

“Oh, am I? I didn’t notice,” Curt said, a wide grin on his face.

“You’re getting the couch wet,” Owen said.

“So you care more about the couch then my comfort,” Curt said, trying to sound offended but still smiling.

“Do you like sitting on a wet couch?” Owen asked him. Curt took a minute to respond.

“I guess not,” Curt admitted with a shrug before moving to get up.

“I’m going to get a shower in,” Curt said as he headed back towards their bags. Probably to grab some soaps and clothing for himself.

“Alright, I’ll probably just read until you’re done,” Owen said, also moving to stand up and grabbing his crutches.

“You want me to just pass you the bag? That way you don’t have to get up,” Curt offered.

“No thank you, Love. I’ll get it myself. I’m not going to get better if I just sit around all the time,” Owen said as he stood up.

“It’s going to be a while before you can walk easily, you know. You  _ can _ take it easy for a bit,” Curt told him.

“I know, but I’d love to be able to walk properly. If anything happens I  _ need  _ to be able to take care of myself again. To escape or fight if…” Owen cut himself off, figuring that Curt probably understood what he was talking about and there was no reason for him to keep talking about it unless he wanted to stress himself out. Curt nodded in understanding and waited as Owen made his way over to the bags. He managed to do an awkward crouch and dug through the bags until he had his copy of Sherlock Holmes before looking up at Curt.

“I’m fine, Curt. You can go ahead and shower,” Owen told him.

“Just making sure you’re okay,” Curt said. Owen smiled at Curt and stood up to prove he was fine.

“I understand, love. I’m fine,” Owen told him. Curt frowned and nodded.

“I know. And I know you’re moving around much easier than when you were first injured, but it’s still only been, like, two weeks,” Curt said.

“Seventeen days,” Owen informed him. 

“Right. Most people would be lucky if they were properly healed by fourth months,” Curt told him.

“I know, Curt. But I’m  _ fine _ . If anything were wrong, I’d tell you,” Owen told him.

“You promise?” Curt asked him.

“Promise,” Owen told him with a nod. Curt smiled and nodded.

“Alright,” Curt said, his eyes locking with Owens’ for a moment. Owen didn’t look away for a moment. Curt looked away first with a slight blush. 

“I’m going to go shower,” Curt told him as he moved towards one of the bedrooms with showers.

“Alright, enjoy,” Owen called after him as he stepped into the bathroom.

“Will do,” Curt called before vanishing completely. Owen chuckled and looked down at the novel in his hand before leaning back down and digging through the bag again. After a moment he found a black pen, which he shoved into his pocket before standing up again and using his crutches to get back to the couch.

He sat back down- avoiding the wet spot on the couch- and folded up his crutches again before opening the book. He’d been slowly reading through the book in the past two and a half weeks and was maybe a third of the way through the story, but that wasn’t why he had grabbed the book for now. At least, not the whole reason. No, the reason now was because he’d wanted to talk to Curt about something.

He pulled a folded piece of paper from the middle of the book and looked it over. It was a list of how much and all the times Curt had drunk some form of alcohol. Owen knew Curt had always been a bit of a heavy drinker, but a bottle of vodka every two days was a bit much. A glass of bourbon every morning or half a dozen shots of whiskey every few days was a bit much.

Okay, it was a lot.

Honestly, Owen wasn’t sure how Curt was even walking straight. Or conscious. But that’s what he wanted to talk to Curt about. He was concerned about the other man. Sure there was nothing wrong with a few drinks every now and again, but this went past that. Thinking about Curt now, he would do some of the same things he’d done before Owen had started dating him. 

Like how after they’d gotten together, Curt had started tidying up more often. It had started with small things, dirty clothes in a pile in the corner instead of wherever they landed, shoes in the closet instead of wherever he took them off- which usually tracked dirty or whatever on the carpet- and other small things. A few missions after these little things started, Curt had explained that putting the effort into keeping things decent looking instead of just throwing things around made him feel better mentally. Now, however, Curt was throwing things around again and being generally messy, like before.

All signs were leaning towards Curt going back to his old habits, but that didn’t make sense to Owen. He  _ knew _ that Cynthia wouldn’t have let him get back on that bandwagon. She would have killed him if he’d tried. Owen was missing something. He  _ had  _ to be missing something. He just wasn’t sure what. He listened to the sound of water running in the shower and the rain hitting the windows as he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated, or feel free to come talk to me about Spies Are Forever on tumblr, poems-art-darkness-n-more


	12. Talk Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen tries to talk to Curt about his drinking habits and... It doesn't go well.  
> TW: Mentions of alcoholism, mentions of past torture  
> Next Update: Sunday, August 23  
> Comments are Greatly appreciated

Curt and Owens Essen Hotel room, half an hour later

Curt stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in some loose pants and a plain shirt. They weren’t going to be going anywhere so Curt figured it was fine to get into some relax clothes. Even if it  _ was _ only just past noon. 

He stepped back into the living to see Owen messing with a piece of paper, sitting on the couch, with his book sitting in his lap. As Curt entered the living room, Owens’ hands steadied and he looked up at Curt.

“Hello, Curt,” Owen said. His hands went back to fidgeting with the paper, folding and unfolding and folding again, flipping it over and back as he smiled at him.

“Hey, O. What’s up?” Curt asked as he went to sit down next to Owen, sitting down just as he suddenly remembered the wet spot he’d put on the couch earlier. Almost immediately he could feel the excess water from earlier soaking into his clothes. “Damn it.”

“I’m sorry?” Owen asked, looking confused.

“The wet spot on the couch. I forgot it was here,” Curt explained with a sigh.

“Oh. I did tell you this would happen,” Owen said.

“What? No, you didn’t,” Curt said, trying not to laugh.

“I, at the very least, implied it,” Owen said.

“Bullshit,” Curt said, watching as Owen started to grin. Curt also grinned before his eyes flickered down to Owens’ hand, which were still messing with that piece of paper.

“What’s that?” Curt asked him. Owens’ hands stilled and he looked down at the paper before back up at him.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Owen said, his hands still moving to fold and unfold it, making the folds more prominent as he repeated the movement for the umpteenth time.

“About what?” Curt asked. Owens’ lips twitched down in a slight frown.

“Well, It’s about a… certain habits that I’ve noticed you’ve picked up,” Owen said slowly. Curt frowned slightly as he noticed how tense Owen was.

“Owen, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine,” Curt said, trying to help calm the nerves of the Brit. Owen smiled at him, but it was sharp and a little forced. Curt thought for a moment before offering his hand to Owen. Owen looked surprised for a moment before eyeing his hand and then finally taking his hand, his smile relaxing a bit.

“Right, well…” Owen looked down at the paper again before holding it so Curt could see.

At first, Curt wasn’t sure what he was looking at. It was a list of times, sectioned off into different dates, with acronyms next to each date like vd or br or bb. Looking at it, Curt noticed the first date was the day they’d arrived at their hotel in Trybunalski after they’d gotten their second car. However, despite the short time period this seemed to be covering, everything had been written small enough that two lines could fit in one line on the paper and that still didn't seem to be enough space.

“What is this?” Curt asked after a long few moments.

“It’s a list of your drinking habits. What you had when and how much,” Owen said, causing Curt to look at him in surprise.

“What?” Curt asked.

“Yes, well, at the first hotel I noticed how you were having… quite a few drinks, and I wasn’t sure if it was just me being out of touch with reality or... something else. So I started keeping track of how often you were drinking and... “ Owen trailed off, waving his free hand at the paper to clarify his thoughts.

“Okay… so what if I’m having just a glass or two to drink every now and again? It’s no big deal,” Curt said dismissively.

“Yes, a little every now and again isn’t bad, but this isn’t ‘just a glass or two’ every so often. This is full bottles of Whiskey and Vodka every two or three days, with glasses of bourbon or Black Russians sprinkled in every twenty minutes,” Owen said.

“It’s fine, Owen. It’s no big deal,” Curt said, wishing he would just drop the subject.

“This isn’t ‘fine’, Love. It’s a miracle you’re even sober at all with how much you’ve been drinking. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’ve managed to stay with the A.S.S. with how much alcohol you’ve had,” Owen said. That one stung a bit.

“Why do you even care? You were just as bad as I was before The Russian Affair,” Curt said. He felt the slight twitch of Owens’ hand in his as he realized how that might have hurt him, but before he could say anything Owen had spoken up again.

“Why Do I Care? Because, Curt, I love you. I want to be Okay! But that might not even happen if you keep poisoning your liver like you are,” Owen said, his voice raising the slightest bit. “And you saying that I was just as bad as you were back then is nowhere  _ near _ the truth. I didn’t drink as often as you did then, and I have  _ never _ drunk as much as you do now,” 

Owen paused for a moment and Curt fought the urge to look away, knowing if he did that would tell Owen that he was right. Owen watched his face for a moment before sighing and continuing.

“Curt, dear, I just want to help. I want you to be okay,” Owen said. Curt opened his mouth to argue and Owen cut him off.

“Love, with all due respect I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say ‘Oh, I’m fine.’ or ‘Nothings wrong.’ Or ‘It’s no big deal.’ but I  _ know  _ it’s a big deal, Love. You wouldn’t be drinking this excessively if something wasn’t wrong,” Owen said.

Curt knew Owen was right. What he was doing to himself wasn’t healthy, but at this point, it was just easier to numb the pain then try to get better. Sure he’d only restarted drinking because he’d lost Owen and he didn’t need it for that anymore, but it was still hard. It was hard seeing Owen have panic attacks because he thought Chimera was coming for them. It hurt when he would notice Owen flinch away from him out of habit. It hurt seeing the brave man loved staying quiet where he normally would have had some quip prepared to make them both chuckle, or watching him wait for Curt to start eating first because he feared punishment.

And it hurt because Curt knew it was all his fault. If Curt hadn't fucked up that mission nothing would have happened to Owen. Owen wouldn’t have been hurt and manipulated by Chimera. It was all his fault. And it was easier to drink and forget about how it’s all his fault than to confront those thoughts.

Curt had learned early on in his life that it was easier to drink and numb the pain then it is to confront the issue, which might be why he did what he did next. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, he was just moving on auto-pilot. He pulled his hand free from Owens’, stood up, and started towards the door.

“Curt, what are you doing?” Owen asked.

“I’m gonna go get a drink from the bar, I’ll be back in a bit,” Curt said as he pulled on his shoes and moved to the door.

“Curt, wait. You can’t just run away,” Owen said as Curt opened the door.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Curt said, closing the door a little harder than necessary.

Curt and Owens Essen Hotel room

Owen flinched as the door slammed, subconsciously tensing up for a moment as he listened to Curts’ footsteps declining. It wasn’t until a few moments after his footsteps had vanished that Owen allowed himself to breathe out.

“That could have gone better,” Owen muttered to himself. He was confused about where this reaction had come from and a little on edge from how... cold Curt had been. Sure he’d seen that side of Curt before, but it had never been directed to him. It had been directed at the people trying to hurt them or the people who were hurting children or doing other terrible crimes, never to him.

Owen rubbed at his wrist as he briefly remembered a time when he was so much more confident, both in his work and his life. He’d known what to do then. He’d known how to successfully complete missions and help Curt with whatever issues he would have.

Now if only he knew how to help Curt now.


	13. An Unlucky Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt goes for his drinks, only to end up royally fucking himself and Owen over. Now it's a race to stay conscious long enough to apologize to Owen and also save him.
> 
> TW: Minor homophobia, blood, death, drugging, kidnapping
> 
> Next Update: Saturday, August 29th

A Bar In the Hotel In Essen, Germany. An hour and a half later

Curt listened to the buzz of voices around him as he took another sip of his beer. This was the seventh drink he’d had since he got there and had been silently thinking about the whole argument.

In hindsight, it was stupid to get upset about it because Owen was just trying to help. However, Curt was a little prideful, a little dumb, and very bad at confronting his emotions. All in all, it was a recipe for disaster.

Curt went to take another sip of his beer, only to find it empty and he groaned. He put the cup back down and slouched back in the booth he was in.

What was he even doing here? Sitting here feeling sorry for himself while Owen was still in their hotel room, probably either upset or irritated with him. Not that Curt could blame him. He’d said a few cruel things that he shouldn’t have.

Curt let his head flop against the back of the booth as he thought about just how much he’d fucked up. He needed to confront Owen, but he needed to sober up before he went back. He looked around for a moment, trying to locate the waiter who’d brought him his drinks, hoping to buy himself water.

He’d just located the waiter and was about to call him over when the most average looking guy Curt had ever seen sat across from him, sliding a drink to him across the table. He looked like the most generic guy on planet Earth, with the only vaguely interesting feature on this guy being his black hair, which was just a little longer then Curts’ own hair. It was the type of face Curt could see in passing multiple times and never recognize.

“Sorry to bother you, friend,” He said through a heavy french accent. “I just couldn’t help but notice your misery and- as my father told me- when you see a man suffering, buy him a drink.”

Curt stared at the guy who took a sip of his own drink, suspicion clear on his face.

“Ah, yes, yes. Where are my manners? I’m Jean Louis. Who are you, my friend?” Jean asked.

“Kowalski,” Curt said, using the name on his newest stolen card.

“What seems to be troubling you, friend?” Jean asked. Curt eyed him for a moment, not seeming to find anything odd about him, and decided to give him a watered-down version of what happened.

“I got into an argument with a friend of mine over something stupid. So instead of dealing with it like an adult, I came to get shit faced,” Curt said. Jean laughed.

“Getting drunk is indeed a good way to deal with your issues in the heat of the moment. However, you should probably talk to your friend after you’ve both calmed down. Maybe give it a day or so?” Jean offered.

“That’s what I was thinking. In fact, I was just looking for a waiter so I could try and sober up before I go talk to him,” Curt told him.

“Nonsense. At least have this last drink. Plus, I don’t think I could finish these two on my own,” Jean said as he took another sip of his drink. Curt eyed the drink that had been slid to him for a moment before accepting it with a shrug. He doubted average Jean was anything to worry about and the drink had already been paid for, so he took a sip.

Almost as soon as he swallowed his first sip- which was admittedly about a fourth of the drink-, a beautiful woman with curly dark brown hair came stumbling up to the table. She seemed to be drunk, based on her swaying and random giggling.

“Ah, Antoinette! Kowalski, this is my wife, Antoinette,” Jean said. Antoinette giggled out a small ‘Bonjour’ and sat down next to him, her hand coming uncomfortably close to his side.

“Hello,” Curt said, his head feeling a little fuzzy. She responded in french, her words slurring together, making it hard for Curt to translate what she’d said. He did think he heard the words ‘key card’.

"Antoinette, my dear?" Jean asked, acting concerned.

“We need to hurry up, how long before it takes effect?” she asked in French.

“Shouldn’t take too long, now. Just give it a minute,” Jean responded in French before turning to Curt again.

“Sorry to cut this short, my friend, but it seems that my wife here has gotten so drunk she’s forgotten how to speak English,” Jean said. That’s when Curt realized neither of them knew he could speak English.

“It’s quite alright. Have a nice night,” Curt said as Jean stood up and helped Antoinette stumble away.

Curt waited for a moment after they vanished before looking over his newest drink.  _ Really _ looking over it. It looked fine and- after a quick sniff test- he didn’t smell anything, but that didn’t change the fact he was already starting to feel a lot more drunk then he should have been. After a brief moment of thought, he decided to cut his losses and go back to Owen. He looked up and noticed a waiter nearby.

“Excuse me, waiter?” Curt asked. The waiter approached him.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you?” The waiter asked.

“Can I get a glass of water and my tab?” Curt asked.

“Of course, sir, just give me a moment and I’ll need your card,” the waiter said.

“Yeah, of course, just let me…” Curt started as he dug through his pocket, only to trail off as he couldn’t find his wallet. He quickly checked his other pocket, only to find that one empty too.

“Could you just charge my tab to room 2-18? I seem to have lost my wallet,” Curt said.

“Of course, sir. I’ll be right back with your water,” he said before walking away. Curt stood up while he waited, having to grab onto the table for a minute because he was so dizzy at first.

He felt like a lifetime passed as he waited for the waiter to finally return with his water. When he finally got back, Curt thanked him before rushing off, suddenly feeling very uneasy.

Curt managed to chug about a third of his water by the time he was to the lobby. He was feeling a little better, but as his eyes flickered around the room he froze. Specifically because the windows outside- while revealing the heavy rain- also revealed the still bright outside world. While Curt had been drinking, he’d assumed a lot of time had passed- especially since most normal people don’t get so drunk they forget something like a second language during the day- but it was still daylight outside.

Curt scanned the room again, this time looking for a clock, which he quickly located above the check-in desk. It said it was just past two pm. Much earlier in the day then Curt had thought.

Curts’ pace quickened as he made his way to the elevator, taking another long sip of his water. Something was very wrong and he needed to get back to Owen, now.

The elevator was empty as Curt rode up to the floor their room was on, hoping desperately the two were just small-time thieves and nothing insane. He finished off his water as the door opened and was quick to walk down the hall, only stalling once- as he had a dizzy spell, which he powered through- and he slowed down as he approached the hotel room, trying to muffle his footsteps as he approached.

As he finally got to the door, he pressed his ear against it and listened.

For a moment… nothing. Then…

“Do we call the boss now?” A female voice asked in French.

‘Damn it. I’m really off my game. I should have known something was up.’ Curt thought to himself as ‘Jean’- probably not his real name- responded.

“Not yet. We wait till the other one passes out and we get him back here.  _ Then _ we call the bosses, tell them the good news and what we found,” Jean said.

“By  _ We _ , you mean  _ you _ , right? Because I’m not helping you carry that  _ queer _ ,” Antoinette said.

A slight growl caught his attention. It sounded muffled, but a bit like Owen. It had wavered the slightest bit- possibly from fear?- but whatever it was, someone was not happy with whatever was going on in there.

Curt thought about how best to proceed. He was out-numbered- two to one at least- didn’t have a weapon on him except for the glass mug that his water had been in, and if he tried to pick the lock they would hear. Not only that, but it was becoming increasingly clear to him that he’d been drugged- he should have known better than to accept a drink- and he wasn’t sure what had been used or the effects. Luckily, he’d been in worse scraps then this. Just had to take it one step at a time.

First things first, he had to get into the hotel room. The door wasn’t really an option as he didn’t have a key and they would hear him picking it. However, there were quite a few large windows in the hotel room. Hopefully, one of those was unlocked. He just had to find his way out there.

Looking around, he made his way to the room to the left of his and knocked on the door. He listened for a moment for any sign of anyone. After not hearing anything for a moment, he opened up a secret compartment hidden in the heel of his shoe and pulled out a lock-picking kit.

Barbara had originally made the shoes to hold an extra round of ammo for stealth missions. However, on the same mission, they’d been captured and Curt had realized how much more helpful a lock pick would have been.

Curt snapped back to reality as the lock clicked and he pushed the door open, sneaking in and shutting it behind him again.

The room was identical to him and Owens’, with the same living room set-up, the ‘master bedroom’ in a door to the right, and a bedroom with two beds to the left. Meaning if he climbed out of the master bedroom, it would be right next to the other bedroom of his hotel room.

He stepped into the master bedroom and immediately went to the window, knowing he had no time to waste. The window slid open easily, not even having a lock- which was both helpful and a little concerning, but Curt didn’t have the time for that- and Curt stuck his head and upper body out, ignoring the rain that immediately drenched him in favor of looking around for anywhere to stand. Luckily for him, there was a ledge that jutted out about a foot or so, allowing there to be little statues on the building.

Curt put down the water cup he’d been holding before he carefully made his way out the window, pressing his back against the wall as he started to shuffle towards his own hotel room.

The window to the two-bedroomed room was closed, but the curtains were open, allowing Curt to see the door shut and no one inside. He could get in without being seen, but anyone inside would definitely hear the window open. At the very least he needed to know where they were and what the situation was.

Curt shuffled further along to the windows to the living room, which were partially covered with the curtains, but they were open enough for Curt to see into.

Antoinette was sitting on the couch with her legs kicked up on the coffee and playing with a knife. Owen had been forced to sit on his knees on the floor- the bandage around his injured leg was starting to turn red, which was worrying- his arms had been tied tightly behind his back and he was gagged. He was glaring between Antoinette and Jean, who was leaning against the wall by the door. Jean was looking between the door and a watch on his wrist, tapping his foot impatiently. His mouth moved as he said something Curt couldn’t hear. 

He started to look up and Curt ducked his head back, trying to avoid being seen. After a few minutes had passed, he peeked back into the window right in time to see Jean leaving out the door. Which was… surprisingly helpful. Now he just needed to find a way in without Antoinette hearing him.

That’s when he remembered the water cup he’d gotten. He wiped rainwater out of his eyes as a plan formed in his mind. He shuffled his way back over to the window he’d climbed out of and grabbed the glass mug he’d brought with. He shuffled back so he was between the two-bedroomed window and the living room window before taking aim for the window to the master bedroom.

It smashed against the window, shattering both the cup and the window. He saw Antoinette and Owen both jump before she was standing up and moving toward the master bedroom. As soon as she was moving Curt opened the window to the other bedroom and quietly climbed in. He managed to shut the window behind him without a noise before he looked around. He was dripping from the rain and cold, but now wasn't the time to complain.

Antoinette had a knife and probably other weapons while Curt had his hands. He needed a weapon of some sort to fight her. He quietly crept around the bedroom, trying to find something. The only thing he could find was a copy of the bible and a lamp on one of the night stands. Lamp it was.

Curt unplugged the lamp and started wrapping the cord around the base as he heard the door to the master bedroom slam shut again. Seeing an opportunity, Curt tapped against the door a few times before stepping out of the way.

For a moment… silence.

Then the door was being slammed open.

She just had enough time for her eyes to widen in surprise before the lamp was slammed down on her head and she lost consciousness, collapsing to the ground in a useless, bloody pile. Curt smacked her over the head a second time- just in case- before dropping the lamp as he suddenly had another dizzy spell. It was a good thing he was having it here and not out on the ledge.

A distressed noise from the living room reminded Curt what he was doing and he suddenly realized that Owen couldn’t see him, only the collapsed lady in the doorway. Curt rushed over to Owen and immediately ungagged him.

“‘M sorry, O. You’re right, I have a problem. This is my fault,” Curt rambled as he started untying his wrists, which were bound  _ really _ tightly. As soon as his wrists were free, Owen started rubbing at them as they were already rubbed raw. While he was doing this, Curt looked over Owens’ face.

His lip was split and there was a cut with dried blood just above his left eyebrow. He was clearly trying to look calm, but Curt could see the slight panic in his eyes and the clench of his jaw as he fought to remain calm.

“Owen? Are you alright?” Curt asked after a moment. Owen looked at him for a long moment before launching himself at Curt and pulling him into a hug, hiding his face in his shoulder for a minute. Curt returned the hug until Owen removed his face from his shoulder.

“I’m fine, love,” Owen said with a shaky smile.

“Are you sure?” Curt asked him.

“Positive, just a little shaky. I’ll be fine,” Owen told him before looking over at Antoinette. “We’ve got to deal with her. Her and that guy when he gets back.”

“Yeah. I’ll deal with him. First, we should get you to one of the bedrooms. That way you don’t get any more hurt,” Curt said.

“I’m fine, Curt,” Owen said.

“You’re about as fine as I am,” Curt joked. Owen sighed.

“I’ll stay to the side, I’m not going to a different room,” Owen told him.

“Fine, let’s just move you,” Curt said as he started to stand. He helped Owen stand and moved him to the side of the room so he was out of view of the door.

Once he was sure Owen was sitting comfortably he went to the master bedroom to find a weapon from their luggage. At first, he wanted to grab a gun, but that would be too loud, that wouldn’t help them at all. So he needed a knife. He grabbed a second for Owen, but as he turned to return to the living room he paused as the world around him spun and blurred.

“Curt? Are you alright?” Owen called from the other room.

“Yeah… yeah, O, ‘m fine,” Curt said, fighting back the dizziness before returning to the room and handing Owen the second knife.

“Curt, you don’t look so well. Are you alright?” Owen asked.

“I’m fine,” Curt said quickly. Owen went to argue when the door opened.

“He’s gone and no one’s seen him. We’ve gotta find him quick-” Jean said as he came into the room. He trailed off as he saw them both standing there. 

He went for his gun only for Curt to charge forward with his knife and stab him in the shoulder. Jean groaned and smacked him across the face with his gun, but Curt managed to catch his wrist and knock it away. Jean punched him in the stomach before deciding to straight tackle him, making him smack his head into the wall. Curt groaned but managed to grab onto the knife he’d buried into Jeans’ shoulder and tried to rip it out. Jean caught his hand and tried to stop him so he didn’t bleed out and used his other hand to smack Curts’ head into the floor again. 

Owen joined the fight now and tried to stab Jean, only for jean to remove the hand he’d used to smack Curts’ head into the floor to grab a book nearby and smack Owen in his injured leg, making him kneel in pain, when Jean was able to the slam the book hard over his head, knocking him to the floor.

“Owen!” Curt yelled as his grip on the knife loosened just a bit, but it was enough for Jean to force his hand away. Jean managed to pin both of Curts’ hands down with his knees before his hands were wrapping around Curts’ neck, cutting off his oxygen supply.

Curt tried to struggle, tried to free his arms, tried to do anything, but everything was going black.

“Augh!” Jean yelled after a moment as his grip around Curts’ neck vanished and he instead brought his hands up to his back.

Curt was coughing, trying to refill his lungs as he heard Owen say something to Jean. Jean yelled again as he heard metal meet flesh.

Jean was moved off of him and he heard Owen saying something, but Curt couldn’t say anything as whatever he’d been drugged with and the repetitive bangs to the head made him lose consciousness as everything did, in fact, go black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated


	14. After The Mania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen has a bit of time to kill until Curt wakes up. Sounds like the perfect time to clean up the trashed hotel room and strain his injury.
> 
> TW: Drugging, blood, death, dead bodies
> 
> Next Update: Friday, September 4th

Curt and Owens’ hotel room, 2:17 pm

Owen shoved the agent off of Curt, pulling the knife out of the back of his neck as he did so, but the guy didn’t react much. Owen glared at him before quickly turning back to Curt, who was looking dazed on the floor.

“Curt?” Owen asked, trying to get a reaction out of Curt. All he got was the American blinking groggily at him for a moment before his eyes shut, his breathing deepened, and his whole body relaxed.

“Curt?” Owen asked again, trying to ignore the slight panic as he shook Curt a bit. Nothing. He checked his pulse. He had something. His pulse was there, just slow.

That’s when he remembered what those two had been talking about before Curt had arrived. They’d drugged Curt. With what, Owen had no clue.

Owen turned back to the guy and checked him for a pulse. Nothing. He checked his pockets. Also nothing. He looked over to the lady, still collapsed in the bedroom doorway on the other side of the room. He checked Curts’ pulse one more time to make sure it hadn’t slowed down at all- it was still fine- before limping his way over to the woman, having to lean against the wall as his crutches had been thrown aside when they’d tied him up.

He got to her body and checked for a pulse, finding nothing. He checked her pockets and found Curts’ wallet- which he quickly pocketed- as well as a little bottle full of little, circular, white pills.

Owen immediately recognized the pills as Rohypnol, aka Roofie. That explained why Curt was so out of it. The best thing Owen could do would be to wait for Curt to wake up on his own, which could take up to six hours.

Looking around their mess of a hotel room, all Owen could think was that he would at least have something to do while he waited.

The first thing he needed to do was make sure Curt wasn’t hurt. He quickly limped his way back over to Curt, where he quickly checked over the American. There were already bruises forming around his neck, but otherwise, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong there as Curt was seemingly breathing fine. He probably had a concussion, considering how many times his head had been smacked into the floor, but there wasn’t much Owen could do about that right now. Otherwise, he was seemingly fine. Definitely not the worst fight Curt had ever got in, but it was still bad.

At the very least, Curt seemed alright. Now he needed to get Curt off the floor and somewhere more comfortable. That would be interesting as he could barely walk on his own, so he had no idea how he could get Curt across the room and into a bed. Before he did that, he would need his crutches… wherever those were.

His first guess was they were somewhere around the couch or maybe the kitchen, as the lady was the one who had taken them and she’d been in those two areas the most. He guessed the couch first and looked around there, not finding them. He limped over to the kitchen and spent a few minutes looking around there, too. No luck. He limped  _ back  _ over to the couch and looked around again, this time noticing the metal poking out from behind the couch and tucked under the curtains.

Owen groaned at how petty it was before picking up his crutches and fitting them under his arms again. Groaning a second time as he realized she’d fucked with the crutches height, making one too tall and the other too short. It took him a few minutes but he ended up fixing the heights again.

Now he needed to figure out how to get Curt into a bed. He couldn’t carry him on his own, and dragging him would probably injure Curt more than he already was- it also didn’t feel right to him- so he had to find a better way.

Looking around the room, Owen took note of all the chairs- a few barstools at the kitchen island, and the dark wooden chairs at the glass dining table- as an idea came to mind. If he could find some way to get Curt into the chair without him falling, he could drag him to the bedroom that way without getting him hurt or dragging him across the ground.

Owen made his way to the table and moved one of the chairs, trying to gauge how heavy it would be. It wouldn’t be too bad, Owen thought, but he should probably clear the way first. 

He walked over to Curt and made a path from where he was to the master bedroom, only to pause as he realized the window was smashed and the floor and curtains nearby were soaked with rainwater. There was also an awful draft and the room itself was freezing, which he hadn’t realized before as the door had been shut.

Owen figured it would be a better idea for Curt to be in the other bedroom, as that one wouldn’t be so cold and it wouldn’t risk Curt getting sick. Unfortunately, that meant he would need to move the lady out of the doorway.

With a sigh, Owen made his way back over to where Curt was and started a  _ new _ path towards the bedroom, leaving her body for last as he made sure he could get Curt from his position on the floor to one of these beds. Finally, when there was nothing else to do, Owen turned to the lady. He could hide her body later, but for now, he just needed to get her out of the doorway.

He grabbed her by the arm and slowly dragged her limp form out of the way, ignoring the blood staining the faux-tiled floor. He didn’t care if it could be seen as disrespectful because she was the enemy and also dead.

Once she was out of the way, Owen walked over to the kitchen table and pulled a chair over to where Curt was. He then crossed over to where their bags were sitting against the wall. Digging inside, he questioned if the jacket or the small blanket they’d bought would be better- eventually settling on the blanket- before he went back to Curt and finally got started on moving him.

The first thing he had to do was lift Curt onto the chair. It was hard and awkward trying to lift Curt into the chair without hurting him, but eventually, he managed it.

As soon as Owen was sure Curt wasn’t going to fall off the chair as soon as Owen let go of him, he moved to grab the spare blanket he’d set aside. He tied each end around the back of the seat before looping it over Curt like a sort of seat belt. This was more of a precaution so that Curt wouldn’t just flop out of the seat while Owen was moving it. Once he felt like Curt was safe enough, he stepped around the back of the seat, and started half dragging-half waddling the chair down the path he’d made.

Ten, almost fifteen, minutes after Owen had started, he finally made it to the closest bed. His leg was throbbing and his arms were sore- both from the effort as he admittedly was not even close to being as strong as he used to be, and also because when those two had attacked him the lady had stomped on his arm and stepped on his shoulder- but that didn’t matter to him right now. He just needed to take care of Curt.

He undid the temporary blanket/seat-belt around Curt and somehow managed to get Curt onto the bed. Once he was settled, Owen couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked almost dead aside from the very slight rise and fall of his chest. It was almost unnerving.

Thinking about it, Owen was relieved their interaction on the stairway had gone the way it had. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to handle being the reason Curt was dead. He was glad to be with Curt again. Owen sat there for a few more minutes, just watching Curt until a particularly loud burst of thunder stole his attention.

He couldn’t just sit there until Curt woke up. He needed to do something.

Curt and Owens’ hotel room, 5:51 pm

Curt opened his eyes slowly before immediately closing them as his head was pounding. He laid still for a moment, trying to remember what had last happened. He remembered going and getting drunk after an argument with Owen, and meeting that French couple who bought him a drink.

_ ‘No, they weren’t really a couple,’ _ Curt reminded himself.  _ ‘They were agents. They kidnapped Owen and drugged you.’ _

_ ‘Oh yeah…’ _ Curt remembered as he shifted on whatever he was laying on only for his eyes to snap open and he sat up as he realized just how bad that was.

He was in the smaller bedroom on the bed closer to the door. There was a chair from the dining table next to his bed and the door was open, revealing that the lady was gone. Owen was also nowhere to be seen.

Curt quietly got to his feet and crept out of the bedroom, ignoring the throbbing in his head as he stepped into the main room.

There was no sign that any of what had happened actually happened. No blood, no mess, everything looked perfectly normal. Almost  _ too _ normal. A noise from the master bedroom caught his attention and he crept in that direction.

Peering into the room he saw that a towel had been put up over the shattered window and the glass had been picked up. Other than that there was no sign of anyone.

A hiss of pain caught his attention and he turned to the master bathroom. The door was cracked open, with light flittering out and into the room. He quietly made his way to the door, careful not to make a noise.

Looking through the crack he could see Owen sitting on the side of the bathtub, his injured leg braced up on the side as well and he was trying to slowly peel off the blood-soaked bandages. He didn’t see anyone else and- after a moment- and stepped into view.

“Owen,” Curt said as he pushed the door open the rest of the way. Owens’ head shot up and he looked surprised to see him.

“Curt, what are you doing up?” Owen asked him.

“I woke up and had no idea what happened, so I went to find you,” Curt said before looking down at Owens’ injury.

“Do you need help with that?” he offered.

“No, I’ve got it,” Owen said quickly before changing the subject. “How do you feel? You hit your head a lot during that fight.”

“My head hurts,” Curt said as he stretched a bit, trying to gauge if he had any other injuries. “My neck does too. And I think I hit my elbow on something. Otherwise, I’m fine.”

“Alright. I think you might have a concussion. You’re breathing alright, right?” Owen asked.

“Yeah, why?” Curt asked.

“You didn’t notice?” Owen asked.

“Notice what?” Curt asked. The only answer Owen gave him was him rubbing his neck and a nod to the mirror. Confused, Curt turned to look in the mirror.

What he saw was a little surprising. There were bruises in the shape of hands around his neck, dark and angry and ugly. Curt brought a hand up to his neck and winced at the contact. No wonder Owen was so concerned. If Curt had seen these kinds of bruises on someone he would be just as concerned.

“Holy shit. This is one hell of a bruise,” Curt eventually muttered.

“You understand my concern now,” Owen said. Curt nodded before looking back at where Owen was.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Curt asked him.

“I’ve got it. This bandage just doesn’t want to come off,” Owen said as he peeled at one of the corners of the bandages. Owen was right, the bandage  _ really _ did not want to come off. After a moment of standing and watching Owen struggle with the bandage, Curt sat down next to him.

“How long was I out?” Curt asked him.

“About three hours, give or take,” Owen said as he finally got the bandage half-off, revealing the dried blood that had spread under the bandage.

“Could have been worse,” Curt said with a shrug before looking back into the master bedroom. 

“Did you clean everything up while I was unconscious?” Curt asked. There was an odd look on Owens’ face for a moment before he nodded.

“Yeah. There wasn’t really much else to do,” Owen said with a shrug.

“You did a good job. For a moment I thought I hallucinated the whole thing,” Curt said as Owen chuckled and finally got the bandage off.

“What gave that it was real?” Owen asked.

“The shattered window,” Curt said.

“Ah, darn,” Owen said, acting in a sort of ‘I was so close to getting away with it’ way for a moment. “I tried my best, but even I can’t repair a shattered window. What did you shatter it with? I couldn’t find anything?”

“Oh, I had a cup of water to try and sober up. I used that,” Curt explained. Owen nodded as he started trying to clean off his wound. Curt watched and the two ended up drifting into a comfortable silence. The only sound being the rain outside as they both existed together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated


	15. A Drop Less and a Drop More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt finally talks to Owen about his experiences during his grieving period. While across the ocean, things get a whole lot more complicated for Cynthia and her mission.
> 
> TW: Mentions of hallucinations, alcoholism, and a (minor) terrorist attack. Transphobia, homophobia, as well as mentions of the Lavender Scare, a moment in US history where it was illegal to work in the government if you were queer.
> 
> Next Update: Thursday, September Tenth

Curt and Owens’ hotel room, 7:15 pm

Curt closed the door behind him with his foot as he carried the tray of hot cocoa and chocolate chip cookies into his and Owens’ hotel room. Owen was sitting on the couch, fiddling with the fluffy blanket Curt had tossed over the couch as he waited.

After Owen had finished bandaging his leg, Curt hadn’t been sure how to explain to Owen what had happened, so he’d wanted to take a shower. Then he wanted to make sure they were comfortable while they talked about it. Then he wanted hot cocoa and cookies- or just anything with sugar- while they talked about it. 

Basically, he was procrastinating. Owen wasn’t pressuring him into talking about it- which Curt was grateful for. 

When they were both with their agencies, it was harder to be like this. Not knowing if someone was following them or if this was their last time together before one of them was lost to a mission gone wrong. Now that they didn’t have to worry about all that- as much- they were both more open and vulnerable with each other. It was easier to be truly comfortable with each other without worrying about anyone else learning about them.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t helping Curt now as he knew he would have to talk to Owen about his own experiences during their four-year-long separation. He  _ did _ want to talk about it at some point tonight. He just wasn’t sure when.

Curt carefully sat next to Owen, holding the tray so the British man could grab one of the mugs before setting it on the coffee table and grabbing his own mug, leaving the cookies within easy grabbing reach.

Owen quietly took a sip of his cocoa and watched Curt, who was holding the mug in one hand- not by the handle- as he pulled half of the blanket around his shoulders loosely. 

There wasn’t much room under the fluffy blanket so Curt and Owen were pressed side to side, with elbows and legs brushing against each other, each with one half of the blanket pulled around each of them.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Owen knew that Curt would talk about what happened when he wanted to, so he was content to wait, while Curt wasn't sure what to say. He knew that Owen would probably end up blaming himself like how Curt had blamed himself for the fall four years ago. It was also just… something Curt never wanted to acknowledge again. He couldn’t wait forever to tell him though, so he took a sip of his cocoa- which burned as it was way too hot, but Curt wouldn’t be complaining about the chocolate- before starting.

“I’m, well… not really sure where to start,” Curt admitted.

“Well, someone once told me ‘The beginning’s a good place to start.’,” Owen said, putting on an American accent for the last bit as he smiled at Curt. Curt chuckled at that.

“Owen, that was me,” Curt said, a small smile on his face.

“Oh, really, Love? I knew whoever had come up with it was wise and wonderful, but I hadn’t known it was you,” Owen said, giving him a smile that seemed to tell Curt ‘I want to help you’. Curt shared the smile for a moment before sobering up and taking another sip of his cocoa.

“After you fell I was… devastated,” Curt said, not looking at Owen- who he felt tense up a bit- as he spoke. Instead, he watched as steam slowly billowed from his mug.

“After that mission I just… I couldn’t get back into work. Everywhere I looked I saw reminders of you. So… I took a grieving period,” Curt said, giving a small shrug before he took another long sip of his burning drink.

“I wasn’t aware you took a grieving period,” Owen said after a moment, causing Curt to look up at him. “Chimera told me that you were on paperwork for a few days to recover and then you went on your next mission like… like it hadn’t happened,” Owen said, his voice wavering the slightest bit.

“Of course I took a grieving period, O,” Curt said as he turned to look at him for a moment.

“I love you. I thought I’d lost you, the best thing in my life, forever. I couldn’t…” Curts’ voice cracked and he turned to look at his cup again.

“...You couldn’t what, Love?” Owen asked after a moment.

“I couldn’t cope,” Curt said, his voice quieter than it had been, only a whisper.

“I thought I’d lost you, O. And after a few months, I started hearing you. Snippets of your voice and bits of old jokes you had told me, but… I could deal with it. I could handle hearing you occasionally. But then it got worse. I started seeing you... While I was away, I saw you everywhere. I started having… hallucinations of you. I’d see you in… in casinos and hotel rooms and I just… broke down,” Curt said, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes because  _ damn it, he shouldn’t be crying _ .

“I would see you and I would forget you were dead because I  _ missed you _ . And then you would vanish and I would remember and I’d break down all over again…” Curt told Owen, his voice cracking as he suddenly realized just how much he wanted to hold Owens’ hand. To know he was there- really there- and not just some sick hallucination. Unfortunately, both of Owens’ hands were wrapped around his mug so Curt settled for the next best thing and grabbed onto his wrist. As soon as he could feel Owen, solid in his hands- plus his pulse- he relaxed a bit, not noticing at first when Owen had tensed up.

“Hey, Love? Would you mind holding my hand instead?” Owen asked after a moment as he removed a hand from his mug. His voice was barely above a whisper and simultaneously an octave higher and he sounded nervous, and it took Curt a moment to realize why.

“Fuck! Owen, I’m so sorry!” Curt said as he moved his hand from Owens’ wrist and instead grabbed his hand, his eyes flickering to the faded scars where his hand had just been before up at Owens’ face. “I’m sorry, I just- I needed to know you were really here and I wasn’t thinking and-” Curts’ apologies turned to rambles until Owen shushed him.

“Curt, Love, it’s alright,” Owen reassured him as he rubbed circles into Curts’ hand with his thumb. “I was just… caught off guard.”

“‘M sorry,” Curt mumbled, looking down at his mug and feeling like a fuck up.

“It’s fine, Curt. Really,” Owen said, pausing for a moment before continuing. 

“We can stop if you want,” he offered. Curt froze for a second before frantically shaking his head no.

“No! No, I just- I just need a minute,” Curt said, his voice still low and his grip on Owens’ hand tightening for a moment before loosening as he worried about distressing Owen again.

“Are you sure?” Owen asked him softly. Curt nodded once.

“Yes, I just need a minute,” Curt repeated, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath.

“Take as long as you need, Love,” Owen said quietly as he set down his mug and took Curts’ hand with his other hand, temporarily freeing his left hand, which he then wrapped around Curts’ waist in a sort of hug. Once that was done, he took back Curts’ hand with his left and picked his mug up with his right hand again. Curt leaned into him, appreciating the comfort, and took a sip of his cocoa- which was much cooler now- again.

A few minutes passed in silence before Curt was willing to keep talking about it again.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to me. It’s not even that bad I’m just making a big deal out of-” Curt started, still looking down at his mug.

“Curt, look at me,” Owen said softly, cutting him off. Curt took a moment to drag his gaze away from his cup and to Owen.

“You do not need to apologize for becoming distressed. Every time I’ve become upset and broken down, you have been nothing but understanding and comforting. Taking the time to help me calm down and accepting me as I am. You were hurt, yes, and while you were hurt a different way then I was, you were still hurt. It doesn’t make your pain any less real. You’re not making a big deal out of nothing because it  _ isn’t _ nothing. You were hurt. Clearly more than I realized, which I should have noticed, but I am going to help you. Just like you’re helping me,” Owen told him, his tone of voice and the look in his eyes left little room for argument in Curts mind. Curt just leaned into his side and didn’t say anything for another moment.

“Thank you,” Curt said eventually.

“You don’t have to thank me, love,” Owen told him. Curt nodded and looked down at his mug. He didn’t want to keep talking about it, but he felt like if he stopped now he’d never keep going.

“I don’t know, O. I started having moments where I would… freeze up and zone out. Occasionally I’d call out to you…” he said. A slight intake of breath from Owen made him look up at the British man in confusion.

“That’s what that was,” Owen said quietly, more to himself.

“That’s what  _ what _ was?” Curt asked.

“Well…” Owen paused for a moment, seeming to be considering how best to explain whatever was going on in his head.

“Well, after Tatiana had freed you and knocked me unconscious, when I was returning to consciousness I... heard you call my name,” Owen told him.

Curt vaguely remembered that. The whole thing had just been so much like one of their old missions- specifically one of the many where Curt had somehow gotten captured and Owen had ended up saving him- that Curt hadn’t even questioned seeing the hallucination at first.

“Being quite honest, it scared me a bit. I mean, I was in disguise, at the time I thought you hated me, I had just… It was a lot,” Owen admitted.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Curt said. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Owen told him before going quiet, waiting for a moment for Curt to continue.

“After a while, I was just… so tired of breaking down and feeling guilty for the fall and seeing you that I… I fell off the sobriety wagon,” Curt told him quietly. He didn’t need to look up when Owens’ arm around his waist and his grip on his hand tightened.

“It got to a point where it was just easier to be numb than to be seeing you everywhere or thinking about what happened. I stopped taking care of myself completely,” Curt admitted, his voice barely a whisper as he focused on his mug and the feeling of Owen next to him.

“I didn’t come back to spying for four years,” Curt said after another long moment.

“What?” Owen asked softly.

“I- I couldn’t deal with all the reminders of you. That bomb deal with Sergio was the first mission I had since the fall,” Curt said. Owen was quiet for a while.

“I didn’t even know you had stopped spying and that was your first mission back,” Owen said. It had sounded like a question but was phrased like a statement. Curt didn’t say anything, just allowed Owen to mull over it in his head.

“I guess that explains the beard,” Owen said jokingly. Curt groaned and hid his face in Owens' shoulder.

“No one can cut me a break for that. Not you, not Cynthia, not Tatiana, not Barb or her whole nerd department,” Curt said, jokingly annoyed.

“I’m sorry, Love. But you just don’t look good in a beard,” Owen said, a smile on his face. Curt faux-groaned and leaned back.

“I can’t say I’m surprised about Tatiana or Cynthia, but what did Barb and her team do?” Owen asked.

“Oh, nothing much. Just forcibly shaved me without my consent,” Curt said.

“Well, then I should be thanking them,” Owen joked. Curt groaned again and buried his face in Owens’ shoulder.

“You’re mean,” Curt mumbled, trying not to smile. He failed as Owen pressed a kiss to his forehead and mumbled a soft ‘I’m sorry, Love.’

“Don’t worry about it,” Curt said as he lifted his head up and smiled at Owen. Owen returned the smile and Curt took another sip of his cocoa. There was a long moment of silence before Owen broke it.

“You should definitely be drinking less though, Love,” Owen said.

“I know,” Curt sighed. “And I want to… but...”

“But?” Owen prompted.

“The hallucinations get worse. I don’t… want to see those again,” Curt told him. Owen held him tight for a moment before responding.

“We’ll just take care of them as they come. Just like how you’ve been handling my panic attacks, I’ll be helping you handle your hallucinations,” Owen said.

“It’s not gonna be easy,” Curt warned him quietly.

“What part of our lives  _ is _ easy?” Owen asked.

“Stealing credit cards is pretty easy. Usually,” Curt said jokingly. Owen scoffed, smiling a bit.

“It was a rhetorical question,” Owen said.

“Yeah, and I retorted,” Curt said with a grin. Owen did laugh at that, which made Curts’ smile widen. He rested his head on Owens’ shoulder and Owen, in response, rested his head on top of Curts’.

“What brought you back?” Owen asked after a few minutes of sitting in silence.

“Well… There were two things,” Curt said.

“There was that theater that was blown up in May that got a bunch of people killed,” Curt said. Owen frowned at that, letting Curt know that he knew what he was talking about.

“It reminded me what good you and I were doing as spies. The missions we would go on to save lives and stop things like that from happening... It reminded me why I had become a spy in the first place. To do good. And I… I missed doing good like that,” Curt admitted. Owen was quiet while Curt talked.

“You’re a good man, Curt,” Owen told him. “I don’t know if I would have done the same.”

“What do you mean?” Curt asked. Owen was quiet for a moment.

“If I had lost you on that mission instead of you losing me… I don’t know if I would have stayed with the agency. I would have wanted to see them crumble for what happened to you,” Owen told him quietly.

Curt wasn’t surprised by this. He had seen Owens’ anger, knew it made him much more violent than Curt could ever be. He’d seen his fury up close on more than one mission, usually, it was when Curt got hurt and directed at whoever had hurt him. It took a lot to make Owen angry, but he was scary when he was like that. Curt was grateful he’d never truly been on the wrong side of his anger.

“I guess it’s a good thing I fell then, huh,” Owen muttered softly. So quiet Curt almost didn’t hear him.

“Owen, It is  _ never _ going to be a good thing that you fell,” Curt said, looking at him seriously. Owen searched his face for a moment before nodding.

“What’s the other thing that brought you back?” Owen asked after another moment.

“You,” Curt said quietly. Owen looked surprised, but Curt kept talking before he could say anything.

“I figured if you could see me, throwing my life away and drinking myself to rock bottom, you would be disappointed... I didn’t want that,” Curt said, getting quieter at the end and giving a small shrug.

“Love, I could never be disappointed,” Owen said as he set down his mug and wrapped up Curt in a hug. “I would be… distressed to see you so upset, but disappointed, No.”

“Thanks, O,” Curt sniffled and put down his mug as he hugged Owen back.

“Of course, Love. Although if I could say quickly that if a job ever gets me killed then I don’t want you to start working for that job again, alright?” Owen said, phrasing it like a question at the end.

“Well, it’s a little late to tell me that now. Because that is never happening again,” Curt said.

“I guess it is,” Owen said. Curt smiled and gave Owen a quick squeeze before loosening his hug. To his surprise, however, Owen started to lay down and pulled Curt on top of him. He didn’t particularly mind if he was being honest.

“Thank you for telling me, love,” Owen whispered.

“Of course. Thanks for being so nice about it,” Curt said in response.

“Not a problem, dear,” Owen said. Curt flushed a bit and smiled, shifting a bit so he was a little more comfortable.

A hotel in New Jersey, 2:30 pm

Cynthia groaned to herself as the door to her office shut behind the agent who she had just dismissed. These last two and a half weeks had been shit.

Every move she had made to try and discover more about Chimera or Owen or Curt had been blocked by superiors or out of her jurisdiction and it was starting to piss her off. She didn’t know what was going on with her higher-ups. Usually, a job like this would have been handled in a matter of days, all resources would go to trying to get an agent- or in some cases their body- back home. Now, however, there hadn’t even been an investigation team sent to the facility.

A knock from the door stole her attention and she called out, asking who it was.

“It’s Mr. Brugel,” the voice of one of the superiors she was pissed at responded. Cynthia quickly removed her feet from where they were kicked up on her desk before calling for him to come in. 

In walked Mr. David Brugel, a man whose face bore no sign of past or present worries thanks to the obvious plastic surgery, with stringy blonde hair brushed in a way that made him look like he had more hair then he actually did. Walking in with him was Ruthie White. A woman with dark hair and way too much make-up who Cynthia especially despised as the only reason she even had the position was because she had been sleeping with Mr. Brugel since he was promoted. Cynthia never cared much for what either of them had to say as- in her mind- the positions they had were only a little better than her own, and they didn’t even deserve those positions. Despite her dislike for them both, she forced a smile onto her face and stood from her seat, offering a handshake to them both.

“Mr. Brugel, Mrs. White. It’s lovely to see you both. What can I do for you?” Cynthia asked them as they sat down across from her.

“It’s lovely to see you too, Cynthia. We’re just here to discuss some things. It shouldn’t take too long,” David said.

“Alright. Would you like me to have my assistant get you anything to drink? Tea, Coffee,” Cynthia offered.

“I’ll take a coffee. Mrs. White will have a whiskey,” David said. Cynthia nodded and hit a button on her phone that would broadcast what she said to Susan.

“Susan, get two coffees and a whiskey to my office,” Cynthia said before looking back at the two higher-ups.

“That’ll be here in a minute,” Cynthia told him. No sooner had the words come out of her mouth that the door to her office opened, revealing Susan holding two white mugs and a flask. Without a word, they dispersed the cups so that the drinks went to the proper person.

“Anything else, ma’am?” Susan asked as Cynthia took a long sip of her drink. There was only a little cream and nothing else, but it was just the way she liked it.

“No, that’s all. Thank you, Susan,” Cynthia said, dismissing her assistant with a nod. Susan smiled at her for a moment before going to leave, Cynthia not paying any mind to the scene until she heard David mutter something under his breath.

“What was that, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear that,” Cynthia said, keeping her voice calm and her expression neutral.

“I just thought the government did something eleven years ago to get rid of all  _ those _ people,” he said as Cynthia started to see red.

“What do you mean by  _ ‘Those people’ _ ?” Cynthia asked, trying very hard to keep the anger out of her voice and keep her mask in place. David laughed and her mask cracked a bit.

“Well, you know. People who aren’t quite you and I. The sodomites and queers and all those,” he said with a shrug before turning to Susan- who stood frozen in place- with a laugh. “I mean, what even  _ are _ you?”

Cynthia fought back a growl as she watched him. She had known what he was talking about the moment he had said ‘those people’. He was talking about The Lavender Scare. A law by the American government that said any homosexuals working with the government were to be fired. Not only did that make life so much harder for a lot of hard-working men and women who just happened to be different, but these people were also outed to the public, making it harder for a lot of them to find jobs of any kind. 

Cynthia hadn’t had the position she did now back then. She hadn’t gotten that job until 1953. But she remembered the sudden increase of empty desks around the agency. At the time she had assumed they had all been fired or quit since no one else talked about it. It wasn’t until she had gotten the promotion that Ken Docson- the last guy to have her position- told her what happened to them all.

Apparently, since they were secret agents who would go on missions and constantly deal with classified information, they couldn’t just be fired and kicked out. It was too risky. So instead, they were walked out the back of the door, taken a block away to the nearby docks, and shot in the back of the head, and thrown into the ocean.

Cynthia still remembered when Docson had looked her in the eyes and told her anyone who was a homosexual was to be handled the exact same way. She had managed to stay stoic that whole day until she got home, where she was promptly sick.

She couldn’t give less of a shit if someone was gay or lesbian or whatever as long as they did their jobs well. A lot of the agents who had been ‘dismissed’ had been great at their jobs and a few had even saved Cynthia when she was a new recruit and one of her missions went wrong. The fact they had been treated so terribly was awful to her. 

After that, Any time information about one of her agents being queer showed up on her desk, the information was destroyed, they were warned to be more careful, and whoever had gotten the evidence was threatened to keep things shut- Usually, she would say something about them being short good spies.

“I’m sorry, sir. But I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’ve been taking care of  _ that _ just as my job requires. And it’s not Susans’ fault if his mother decided to give him a girl's name,” Cynthia said, trying very hard to not explode on her boss. When he didn’t say anything in response for a moment, Cynthia turned back to Susan.

“You’re excused, Susan,” Cynthia said. Susan nodded to her once before quickly rushing out of the office, his hands clamped at his sides.

“Now that drinks are out of the way, what did you need to discuss?” Cynthia asked him.

“Right. It’s about the investigation team you requested be sent to Russia,” David said, making Cynthia sit up a little straighter.

“Yes, what about it?” Cynthia asked.

“We can’t send it,” David said with a shrug before taking a sip of his coffee.

“What? Why not?” Cynthia asked him.

“Well, there’s just so much other stuff going on and it’s just not our top priority right now. We need those teams ready in case something serious happens,” David said. Cynthia clenched her hand tightly, digging her nails into her palms in an attempt to keep calm.

“Not our top priority? Sir, one of the best spies the world has ever seen can not be recovered, an agent who was thought dead for four years is secretly alive, and a secret organization is trying to reveal the private life of everyone in the world. How is that  _ not _ our biggest priority?” Cynthia asked.

“I understand that, Cynthia. But we’ve also got to deal with agent Rodriguez going missing and that whole disaster in Geneva and a whole bunch of other stuff you don’t have the clearance to hear about. Not to mention that Chimera isn’t even that big of a threat. I mean, no one has even heard about it. If there was actually something to worry about, we would have known about it by now,” David said.

“So you’re dropping the case?” Cynthia asked, a little shocked.

“Yup. And that’s actually my exact orders for you. Drop the case. Understood?” He asked. Cynthia stared at him for a moment as he took another long sip of his coffee.

“Understood,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Good. That’s all, we’ll be off now,” David said as he stood up, Ruthie following his lead. He set the cup of coffee- still half full- on the edge of Cynthias’ desk, only for it to fall to the floor and shatter, leaving a puddle of coffee and shards of glass on the tiled floor of her office.

“Oops. You might want to have your assistant clean that up,” David said as he started towards the door.

“Have a good day, Cynthia,” he called before walking out the door, Ruthie following at his heels.

As soon as he was gone Cynthia dropped her head into her hands, muttering a quiet ‘that fucking prick’ under her breath as she did. She heard Susan come in and start cleaning up the mess as she took a few deep breaths to try and calm herself.

“Susan, check for bugs, will you?” Cynthia asked after a moment.

“Of course, Ma’am,” Susan said, his voice sounding a little shaky. Cynthia lifted her head to try and catch a glimpse of her assistant with little luck. A few moments passed before he spoke again.

“No bugs,” he said.

“Thank you, Susan,” Cynthia said before standing up and taking another long sip of her coffee. She was restless and angry and figured a good way to handle that would be to pace. So that’s what she did. She paced back and forth along the wall opposite the door.

“Is something wrong, Ma’am?” Susan asked as she dropped the paper towels and broken glass into the trash bin.

“He’s a prick. He wants me to drop the search for Mega,” Cynthia explained.

“What?” Susan asked, looking at her for a moment, clearly surprised.

“Yeah, the fucking prick says there’s ‘too many more important things going on to worry about this’,” Cynthia explained.

“What are you going to do?” Susan asked her. Cynthia paused her pacing as she thought about that. Admittedly, the answer seemed so easy. She wouldn’t listen to him. This decision could cost her her job, maybe even her life. But she didn’t care. She would keep looking for Curt and Owen and Chimera. And when she found him she was going to rip Owens’ fucking head off and destroy Chimera. She would do it alone if she had to.

_ ‘But I’m not doing this alone,’ _ Cynthia had to remind herself. She had Barbara and Tatiana helping her.

It wasn’t fair to drag them both into the agency's line of fire. If they got caught Barbara could lose everything she’s worked so hard for and the agency would either keep Tatiana as a prisoner, kill her, or send her back to Russia.

Cynthia knew that now they both wanted so hard to take down Chimera. They both wanted to avenge Curt. But Cynthia knew things about Curt that they didn’t. If they came to discover these things, would they still want to avenge Curt? Cynthia wasn’t sure. There was one thing she was sure of, however.

“I’m going to keep looking. I don’t care if I have to do this alone,” Cynthia told him. Susan smiled at her.

“You won’t be doing it alone. I’m going to help,” Susan said, surprising Cynthia.

“What? Susan, you could lose your job, your life,” Cynthia said.

“Technically my job is to help you,” Susan said.

“And your life?” Cynthia asked.

“We’re spies, it’s to be expected,” Susan said with a shrug.

“We’re going be sneaking around behind the agencies back,” Cynthia told him, trying to persuade him away.

“Cynthia. I’m helping,” Susan told her. Cynthia looked at him for a moment, reading the determination in his eyes, and nodded.

“Alright then. I’m working an extra shift tonight to handle the return of Agent Smith from his mission in Brazil, so once you clock out for the day I need you to find a payphone and call…” Cynthia started as she searched her desk and found a sticky note before writing down the phone number for her safe house that Tatiana was staying at. “This number. Tell the person who answers this case just got a whole lot more complicated and to meet me at the usual meeting place so we can discuss it. After that, you’re free to go home or you can meet me two blocks north of here and come with, It’s up to you.”

Susan accepted the note and quickly read over the phone number before hiding it in one of the inside breast pockets of his jacket as Cynthia sat back down at her desk, fighting back a sigh. She looked at the- now cold- coffee Susan had brought her and pushed it to the side.

“And if you could get me something to drink a little stronger than coffee, that’d be great,” Cynthia said.

“Of course, ma’am,” Susan said before turning to leave, only to pause and look back at her.

“We’ll find him, Ma’am,” he said. Cynthia wasn’t sure if he was talking about Curt, Chimera, or Owen, but she found it in herself to agree.

“Damn right we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated


	16. Bookshops and Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia goes to a meeting with Barbara and Tatiana and brings Susan along where they all four plan what to do next. Meanwhile, Owen wakes up and reflects on Chimera and then thinks about Curt.
> 
> TW: Guns, (mentioned) internal homophobia
> 
> Next Update: Wednesday, September 16th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I've started school again on my end so chapters might be a little more spaced out, that way I'm still keeping them the same length.

A Book Shop in New Jersey, 1:15 pm

Cynthia glanced around the miserable little bookshop as she pulled at the collar of her jacket so it wasn’t tucked under her chin with one hand and smoothed down her skirt with the other hand. It was cramped and dusty with bookshelves blocking the windows that showed the road and other nearby shops, but the warm atmosphere was a pleasant welcome compared to the already bitterly cold September air outside. There was a small cafe connected to the shop through a hallway by the bathrooms and the walls had posters of popular franchises that she didn’t care much for. There weren’t many people around, but there were still more people than to be expected for one in the morning.

Looking around, Cynthia had to ignore the nostalgia she was feeling. This place had been around longer than she had. It had been around since before her parents were born. It was actually where they had both met. After she had been born, her dad would take her here all the time. This was where she had found her first spy book.

Not that anyone would ever know that her dads’ desire for her to have an interest in literature is what got her into spying so long as she had anything to say about it. Which she did.

Susan was looking around as well, taking in the sight and probably looking for any sign of danger like she was. Which is why, when his elbow brushed against her arm, she watched out of the corner of her eye as he gave a minute nod towards a bookshelf he was close to.

She ducked her head down the slightest bit before tilting her head to the right. Silently telling her secretary she’d go around back. A flick of his wrist was the only indication she got that he saw before he moved, pretending to be looking at books opposite the shelf, while she was silently creeping around towards the other opening of the bookshelf, her right hand resting above the gun she had hidden under her jacket and her left already holding the handle of the knife hidden in her sleeve.

As she walked, she saw a flash of tan fabric, possibly a skirt or long jacket, as someone cycled between the books on that end. She also saw- what looked to be- a gun tucked into a pocket. She rounded behind the corner to see-

“Tatiana, Barbara,” she said in greeting, giving a nod to the two as she secured the knife in her sleeve again and removed her hand from the hidden gun.

Tatiana, who was standing by the far side of the bookshelf and was probably who Susan had seen, nodded to Cynthia as she leaned against one of the bookshelves with her arms crossed. Barbara, who was much closer to Cynthia, jumped the slightest bit before turning to her and smiling.

Tatiana was dressed in black pants, a purple sweater, and black boots. Her hair was pulled in a ponytail and she had on a muted red shade of lipstick. Cynthia could see the outline of a gun under her sweater and against her hip, but she probably wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t known to look for it.

Barbara was wearing a tan paneled skirt with a darker brown grid pattern that went down to her knees, white socks that went up to her knees, black flats, and a light yellow turtleneck under a thin, white sweater that probably didn’t do much for the cold. Her hair was the same blond bob as always and she was wearing her black cat eyeglasses. Unlike Tatiana, her gun was resting openly against her hip.

“Susan, it’s all clear,” Cynthia called loud enough for her assistant to hear but quiet enough that no one else in the store was alerted.

A moment later and Susan was appearing behind Tatiana, who whipped her head around and glared at him. Susan, for his part, held up his hands in a sort of symbol for peace and was quick to step out of her personal space and closer to Cynthia.

“Hi, Susan,” Barbara said, giving him a smile. 

“Hi, Barb,” Susan said, giving a small wave and a smile to the scientist.

“What is he doing here?” Tatiana asked after a moment.

“He wants to help,” Cynthia said simply.

“And I’m supposed to trust him? Trust he won’t sell me out?” Tatiana asked.

“I’d hate to cut in right now, but trusting me, it’s better than trusting the agency,” Susan cut in.

“He’s got a point,” Cynthia said.

“What happened with the agency?” Barbara asked.

“You’re the guy who called me,” Tatiana said at the same time.

“Yeah. I needed to get a message to you but I didn’t want to risk using the A.S.S. phones so I had Susan do it. You can trust him,” Cynthia said.

“Cynthia, what happened with the agency?” Barbara asked again.

“Alright,” Tatiana said, still eyeing him for a moment. Susan cleared his throat awkwardly before offering a handshake to her.

“I’m Susan, It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

“Tatiana,” she said dryly as she accepted the handshake.

“Cynthia,” Barbara tried a third time. Cynthia turned to her and raised an eyebrow, which Barbara took as a cue to continue. “What happened with the agency?”

“They’re trying to make me drop the case,” Cynthia said, keeping her tone indifferent as if the very thought didn’t send her into a rage. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who felt that way as Tatianas’ eyes widened in shock and she- Cynthia assumed- cussed in Russian. Whatever she was saying, Cynthia couldn’t hear over Barbaras’ screech of  _ ‘WHAT?!’ _ that rang across the bookshop.

Cynthia blinked once, trying to ignore the slight ringing in her ears at the sudden yell.

“Barbara, I understand that this is  _ not _ good news, but I’m gonna need you to keep your volume way fuckin’ down. We’re supposed to be inconspicuous, for christ's sake,” she said before giving the scientist a once over. “And speaking of inconspicuous, would you at least tuck in your fucking gun?”

“I’m sorry, but what? Why?” Barbara asked, her voice lower but still relatively loud as she scrambled to hide her gun.

“Yeah, my superiors want me to drop it. According to what I was told, it’s because there are too many ‘more important’ things going on,” she said, doing finger quotes around the words ‘more important’.

“You’re kidding,” Barbara said, shaking her head quickly.

“Afraid not,” Cynthia said, shaking her head no.

“And what about Chimera? How is the privacy of civilians not more important than whatever else they’re dealing with?” Tatiana asked.

“Ahh, you know, I asked him that myself. You know what he said?” Cynthia prompted, not waiting for an answer.

“He said ‘Chimera isn’t even that big of a threat. I mean, no one has even heard about it. If there was actually something to worry about, we would have known about it by now.’ That is a direct quote from my meeting with him this afternoon,” Cynthia told them.

“Your American superiors are, how you say, dumb as shit,” Tatiana said.

“Can’t say you’re wrong,” Cynthia said with a shrug.

“So we’ve got no help from the agency, no resources except for what we might be able to smuggle out, no clues, no idea where to go next, nothing,” Barbara said.

Now that Barbara said it aloud, this whole mission did sound kind of hopeless. She had been thinking about this since the meeting earlier. They had next to nothing to help them. Something akin to hopelessness settled in the pit of her heart for the second time since Curt had died. The first time having been when she called Mrs. Mega to inform her of the unfortunate fate of her son. Cynthias’ hand twitched and she ignored the desire for a cigarette in favor of acting like they weren’t so bad off. You keep people working through confidence, not cowardice. Well, Confidence and a healthy dose of fear.

“Not necessarily. We may not have access to...  _ many _ resources, but we do have some things we could work on,” Cynthia said.

“Like what?” Tatiana asked.

“For one thing, we could properly investigate that facility in Russia that you found Curts’ watch at. The investigation team I tried to have sent there was canceled, so no one went. We can’t use the Agency to get there, so whoever goes will either have to be smuggled in or get a fake passport,” Cynthia said.

“Why don’t we ask Ms. Mega? She’s a master at making false passports,” Tatiana said.

“She is?” Barbara asked.

“Yes, it’s because of her that me and Curt made it back to Europe to confront them,” Tatiana said.

“Alright, I’ll try to call her later and ask about it,” Cynthia said with a nod. Thinking for a moment before continuing.

“That Chimera base you blew up, in the Pacific Ocean, right?” Cynthia asked.

“Yes,” Barbara and Tatiana both said.

“Alright, someone should go back there. Try to find anything that survived that could give away any more locations. We could also try finding who bought the island or who built on it, see if they’ve bought any others. Or even just try to find similar compounds,” Cynthia said.

“I can try and look into finding out who bought it. It shouldn’t be too hard to find. But I’ll need access to my lab,” Barbara explained.

“Alright. Everyone thinks you’re on a grieving period anyway, we should give it a few more days and then you come back,” Cynthia said.

“It seems we have some semblance of a plan, anything else?” Tatiana asked.

“Yeah, actually. And I haven’t quite figured out how to make this one work, so any suggestions are welcomed. As long as they’re not dumb as shit,” Cynthia said. Pausing a moment before continuing.

“I want copies of anything the A.S.S. or M16 has relating to Curt, Owen, or Chimera,” she said. The three gasped and she couldn’t blame them. This was a mammoth of a task. Not just including that fact that Curt alone had been on more missions then nearly anyone else in the A.S.S. meant that there were a TON of files. And that wasn’t including the files for joint missions or Owens’ separate missions. It also wasn’t including whatever files M16 had.

“Cynthia, that’s a LOT of files. You’ve gotta understand  _ just _ how many files that is. Curts’ been on more missions than anyone else currently in A.S.S., maybe even in the whole history of the Agency,” Barbara said.

“I know,” Cynthia said.

“And we’d have to get files from M16, which would be nearly impossible!” Barbara continued.

“I know,” Cynthia said again, trying to keep from sounding annoyed.

“And how are we even supposed to know what is related to Chimera if we didn’t even have a name for it until a few weeks ago?” Barbara said.

“Barbara, I know,” Cynthia said.

“And how are we even supposed to get that many copies?!” Barbara exclaimed.

“Barbara!” Cynthia, Tatiana, and Susan said at the same time, making her cut herself off.

“Barbara, I know this isn’t easy. But it’s our best option. Do you have any ideas or are you just going to keep bitchin’?” Cynthia asked. Barbara looked between them all and sighed.

“I don’t know how to get into M16, but when I go back to the lab, I can get whoever gets the A.S.S. files some camera glasses, that way they can take pictures of them and we don’t have to waste time trying to make copies,” she said.

“Perfect. I’ll call Ms. Mega sometime tomorrow about getting fake passports for whoever is going to Russia to investigate. We’ll get Barbara back into the Agency and once she’s there, she’ll work on discovering the island and sneak Susan or me the glasses. Then one of us will get those documents and we’ll go from there until we find that bastard Owen, wherever the hell he is,” she said.

Curt and Owens’ hotel room, 7:37 am

The first thing Owen was aware of upon waking up was a weight on his chest. The second thing he was aware of was breathing hitting his arm. The third thing was the sound of light snoring.

He opened his eyes and was met with the sight of Curt laying on top of him, his head over Owens’ chest, his ear over his heart, and still very much asleep. Curts’ arms were around his torso and his arms were loosely over Curts’ arms.

Admittedly, Owen shouldn’t have been surprised to wake up like this, as he was the one who had pulled Curt on top of him the night before, and he had resigned himself to sleeping on the couch after Curt had fallen asleep. Not that he was complaining, he was cuddling with Curt.

It wasn’t often they slept with Curt on top of Owen- despite the fact Owen was taller- even before the fall. They either slept side by side, tangled up in each others arms like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together perfectly, or Owen on top of Curt because Curt liked sleeping with something on top of him. Curt also generated a lot of heat in the night and it was nice to cuddle with him like that- not that Owen would admit that aloud, it would go straight to Curts’ ego.

Curt shifted in his sleep, pressing his face partially into Owens’ chest, and Owen watched silently. Waiting until Curt had settled before he removed his left hand from where it was wrapped around Curts’ waist and instead started running it through Curts’ hair. He loved it when Curt would play with his hair and he loved playing with Curts’ hair. It was a mutually enjoyed activity.

Turning his head, he saw the faint light peeking in through the curtains. It wasn’t too bright or coming in at too high of a point, so it was probably still early in the morning. Which was different for Owen. He liked to sleep in. It was nice to sleep in and not be aware of reality. When he was asleep he didn’t have to worry. Not about their spy work, not about the public discovering them, not about Chimera, not about what he’d done, not about what could be done to him, nothing.

Sure he could always wake up in dangerous scenarios, but after years of being able to force himself awake at the softest noise or the slightest shift of the light, he was able to be up and dealing with the issue in an instant. And sure, being with Curt is nice-  _ not just nice, it’s everything Owen could imagine. He wouldn’t trade this for the world _ \- but even when he was with Curt and everything was perfect, reality could seep in. It  _ would _ seep in. Sleep was the one place where those worries couldn’t appear. He didn’t have to worry about panic attacks or nightmares in the middle of the night. Hell, he didn’t have to worry about dreams. 

He hadn’t dreamed in three and a half years now. It was because of Chimera that he no longer dreamed. Someone there had returned from a mission somewhere with some kind of drug. It didn’t work at the time, but thanks to the starting help of whoever they had stolen it from, they had managed to create a drug that made people stop dreaming.

When they had finished it, they tested it on Owen- as well as a bunch of other prisoners, all of whom had been having terrible nightmares- and it had worked. No more nightmares. No more dreams. Nothing.

Owen had been a little disappointed at first because, while his nightmares were terrible, he would at least see Curt in them. That was before he had been convinced Curt hated him.

Owens’ hand stopped moving through Curts’ hair for a moment as he started diving deeper into his thoughts, but he was quickly snapped out of it as Curt let out a slight, half-asleep whine at the loss of the comforting movement. Owen chuckled softly to himself and kept running his hand through Curts’ hair, focusing on the man atop of him instead of his past.

He ran his fingers down to play with the hair around the nape of Curts’ neck, smiling as Curt did a sort of shimmy at the contact before he moved his hand away from his lovers’ more ticklish spots.

He focused on the relaxed expression on Curts’ face, making him look at peace. He didn’t get to see much of that in Curt anymore. 

In the past two and a half weeks Owen had seen a lot of Curt. He’d seen Curts’ eyes, full of so much joy and happiness and love, paired with his wide smile- Curts’ smile could light up the room and Owen used to think of it as his own personal Heaven- when they were both joking and happy. He’d seen the way Curt would lean forward the slightest bit, eyes only for Owen and nodding along as he would explain something Curt probably didn’t understand- like the science in A Wrinkle In Time or the plot of the Sherlock books- listening the whole time as Owen himself got more excited as he kept talking. He’d seen awe in Curts’ eyes that was meant only for him that made Owen feel loved for the first time since the incident.

But he’d seen more than the smiles. He’d seen the empty stares Curt sent when he thought Owen wasn’t paying attention. He’d seen the way Curts’ hands would linger around him long after he was situated and the slightly longer hugs. He’d seen the slumped shoulders and avoided eye contact whenever something was brought up about the Russian Affair or whenever he had a panic attack.

It honestly reminded Owen of when they had first met up. The stares were from Curt grieving, what he thought at the time, would never be possible. He had been grieving the idea of a relationship together. 

The contact would also connect to that grieved relationship. Up until that mission in Canada, Curt had never touched him aside from handshakes. However, something about that mission had given Curt the loophole or reassurance or whatever that he needed. He knew that if he could pass off the contact as for safety- such as grabbing his hand to pull him out of the way of danger- then who was Owen to point out that their hands lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

The slumped shoulders and eye contact were also easily related to before they’d gotten together. Curt had later confessed, once when they were truly alone and purely happy, that those were always from shame. Moments where Curt would dream of them together, only to be hit by a wave of shame because, according to Curt,  _ ‘you were too amazing for me to desire you. It wasn’t my place to bring you into my filthy nature’ _ . 

A train of thought that had almost floored Owen. Sure he had figured Curt might not be entirely accepting of himself- considering how he had been acting just before their first kiss- but he hadn’t expected that. It made sense in hindsight, what with his overly religious mother who constantly pestered him about bringing home a girl so she could have grandbabies, but at the time Owen never would have imagined the suave, confident Curt Mega to have so much self-loathing.

He couldn’t help but wonder if his four years away had somehow brought that all back.

Despite all his wondering, Owen couldn’t bring himself to ask. At least, not yet. Curt had already told him so much about what had happened and Owen didn’t want to bring it up yet. Not to mention that Curt had cried and Owen knew how much it sucked to have a breakdown like that.

So, in the early morning light, Owen resigned himself to doing exactly what Curt had done for him. Wait and be there to help without pushing too much and let Curt know that he was loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated


	17. The Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt and Owen are enjoying some time together.  
> TW: None (For once)  
> Next Update: Tuesday, September 22nd  
> Sorry for the shorter than usual chapter, I'm still trying to get used to being in school again.

Somewhere in Marche, Italy, 9:50 pm, One Week Later

Curt sigh contentedly from where he stood. Owen and him had left their last hotel a day after those Chimera agents had attacked them- they had also learned through documents the two had that they were trying to hunt down some agents who would have been in Essen the next day, which was just another reason to get out of town- and instead, they had gone South, down to a town on the coast in Marche, Italy. 

As soon as Curt had seen the beach he had wanted to go, but Owen had been wanting to go look around other places. Not that Curt was complaining, he loved spending time with Owen and was more than willing to make up for the years he’d missed doing what the other man wanted. But he also hadn’t been to the beach in such a long time.

That’s why Curt had been so excited when Owen had suggested they go have dinner on the beach where no one would see them. He had basically rushed through packing everything- almost forgetting the water bottles Owen had said they should bring twice until Owen reminded him- and basically dragged Owen- which he had apologized for- to the car.

They had arrived at the beach and had dinner as the moon was rising- watching the sunset over the water would probably have been better, but they were on the wrong side of Italy for that- and they had talked for a bit before Curt had gotten up and had run down to the water.

Which led to now, with Curt standing with the waves lightly lapping at his ankles- his shoes left on with the rest of his stuff back up the beach and his pant legs rolled up so they wouldn’t get wet- and watching the current move in the distance, illuminated by the full moon above him.

He could hear footsteps on the sand turn to splashes in the water behind him as someone approached, but he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. A pair of arms wrapping around his waist, a chin coming to rest on his shoulder, and a murmured ‘hello love’ in his ear confirmed his suspicions.

“Hello, Babe,” Curt said with a smile on his face as his eyes flickered over to the other man. Owen was looking relaxed and happy, which made Curt smile more. They were both quiet for a moment as they watched the tide pull and push against itself.

“What’s on your mind, Love? You seem quiet,” Owen said, his breath tickling as it brushed against Curts’ neck.

“Nothing. I'm just enjoying this,” Curt said softly. He wasn’t worried about anyone finding them. It was too late at night and too dark for anyone to see them. Not to mention the fact it was late September on a Wednesday. No one would be out this late.

“I can’t blame you. This is lovely,” Owen said. 

“Exactly. The view is beautiful. Curt said as he grinned slightly and made a small show of looking over Owen quickly before looking back to the ocean. 

“The ocean doesn’t look too bad either,” he said. It was cheesy as hell, but it still got a laugh from Owen.

“You flatter me, darling. Truly, you do,” Owen said.

“I try my best. I mean, what’s there not to love about you? You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re handsome, you tolerate my dumbassery, you’re  _ great _ in bed-” Curt listed on, only to get cut off by the love of his life.

“Curtis, Not Here!” Owen hissed softly, causing Curt to chuckle.

“Oh, come on, O. No one’s here to see or hear us. It’s just you, me, and the crab that just crawled over my foot,” Curt said, turning his head to watch as the crustation scrambled across the sand under the waves, very relieved it hadn’t decided to go after his toes. Owen watched it go too before speaking again.

“Alright, two things,” Owen started to say.

“Go ahead,” Curt said.

“One, if there are crabs here shouldn’t we leave before we get attacked by them,” Owen suggested.

“Nah. Didn’t you see how he just climbed over me? I’m becoming one with nature. We’ll be fine,” Curt joked. Owen just stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.

“Fine. And two; that kind of conversation topic is for when we are behind shut curtains and locked hotel doors. So maybe leave it until we get back, alright, Love?” Owen said. 

Curt perked up at the last comment before turning his head slightly to see Owen- who looked like a god in the moonlight- and was looking out at the water, a soft smile on his face, and no indication he had been suggesting anything. Fortunately, Curt knew him well enough to know exactly what was on his mind.

“Understand completely, Babe,” Curt said, smiling widely at him before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek- right next to his lips- before turning back to look at the water. Owen looked around the beach- making sure no one could see him- before turning back to Curt.

“What? No, you can’t just do that,” Owen said, somewhat jokingly.

“Do what?” Curt asked as he looked back at him.

“You can’t just give me a taste and then refuse me anymore, get back here,” Owen said as he removed one hand from where it was around his waist and used it to turn Curts’ face towards him. Curt couldn’t help the smug smile that made its way onto his face as their breaths mingled together.

“Oh. Well if you want more, I guess you’re just gonna have to take it,” Curt said, his voice close to a whisper.

“Oh really? I think I can manage that,” Owen said, his voice also a whisper.

And then Owen was leaning forward, cutting through the space between them like a knife through the air to meet Curts’ lips in a kiss. Curt spun his body around so he wasn’t turned backward as his arms went to wrap around the Brits’ neck and Owens’ arms around his waist tightened. Curt was pouring all of his passion and love for the other man into the kiss and he could tell Owen was doing the same.

The moment felt like it lasted for both a lifetime and only a few seconds, but it ended when they both pulled away, needing to breathe. They spent a moment just staring at each other as they caught their breath until Curt spoke up.

“So, back to the hotel?” he asked softly.

“Is that even a question at this point?” Owen asked as he started to both pull himself free and drag Curt back to where their stuff was.

“I don’t even know why I asked,” Curt said, also picking up speed, as he was more than eager to get back to their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Curt and Owen definitely go back to their hotel and fuck, but I cannot write smut scenes- like at all- so I'm not going to try. This book is gonna be smut free.  
> Anyway, Comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
